OCTOBER

The farewell and the greeting,
At the cross-roads of the year,
Lay out their Summer glory,
For the scythe and Autumn bier;
Still in the midst of plenty, death,
But green the acorns bloom;
That Spring will live forever,
On the hills and Cymric cwm.

NOVEMBER

I lay the earth to rest beneath,
The tranquil harvest moon,
And shroud it in the Autumn mist,
From Yorkshire Dale to coomb;
From buoy bells - Ah, their mournful toll,
To chapel in the dell
Wherever forest faeries and
The past will cast their spell.