The Bob-White is whirring
And beating, and throbbing;
The wood-brook is singing
And happily sobbing;
The carnival leaves
In resplendent descent,
Fall in a glory o’er merry content.
The wood has all colored,
And flaunting in pride,
Is swaying and laughing
Before they subside
To the sleep —
And the dark —
Of the winter.
THOS. WILLIAMS, 9TH GR.