September Woodlands
Bliss Carman and Richard Hovey
This is not sadness in the wood; The yellowbird Flits joying through the solitude, By no thought stirred Save of his little duskier mate And rompings jolly. If there’s a Dryad in the wood, She is not sad. Too wise the spirits are to brood; Divinely glad, They dream with countenance sedate Not melancholy.
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