Autumn
By John Clare


I love the fitful gust that shakes
The casement all the day,
And from the glossy elm-tree takes
The faded leaves away,
Twirling them by the window pane
With thousand others down the lane.

I love to see the cottage smoke
Curl upward through the trees,
The pigeons nestled round the cote
November days like these;
The cock upon the woodland crowing,
The mill sails on the heath a-going.


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