O Autumn， laden1 with fruit， and staind
With the blood of the grape， pass not， but sit

Beneath my shady roof； there thou may'st rest，

And tune2 thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe，

And all the daughters of the year shall dance！

Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

`The narrow bud opens her beauties to

The sun， and love runs in her thrilling veins3；

Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning， and

Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve，

Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth4 into singing，

And feather'd clouds strew5 flowers round her head.

`The spirits of the air live on the smells

Of fruit； and Joy， with pinions6 light， roves round

The gardens， or sits singing in the trees.'

Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat；

Then rose， girded himself， and o'er the bleak7

Hills fled from our sight； but left his golden load.O Autumn， laden1 with fruit， and staind
With the blood of the grape， pass not， but sit

Beneath my shady roof； there thou may'st rest，

And tune2 thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe，

And all the daughters of the year shall dance！

Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

`The narrow bud opens her beauties to

The sun， and love runs in her thrilling veins3；

Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning， and

Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve，

Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth4 into singing，

And feather'd clouds strew5 flowers round her head.

`The spirits of the air live on the smells

Of fruit； and Joy， with pinions6 light， roves round

The gardens， or sits singing in the trees.'

Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat；

Then rose， girded himself， and o'er the bleak7

Hills fled from our sight； but left his golden load.