Autumn's The Mellow Time.

Not Like Homer Would I Write, Not Like Dante If I Might, Not Like Shakespeare At His Best, Not Like Goethe Or The Rest, Like Myself, However Small, Like Myself, Or Not At All.

I Always Get Back To The Question, Is It Really Necessary That Men Should Consume So Much Of Their Bodily And Mental Energies In The Machinery Of Civilized Life? The World Seems To Me To Do Much Of Its Toil For That Which Is Not In Any Sense Bread. Again, Does Not The Latent Feeling That Much Of Their Striving Is To No Purpose Tend To Infuse Large Quantities Of Sham Into Men's Work?

Fairies, Arouse! Mix With Your Song Harplet And Pipe, Thrilling And Clear, Swarm On The Boughs! Chant In A Throng! Morning Is Ripe, Waiting To Hear.

Bare Twigs In April Enhance Our Pleasure; We Know The Good Time Is Yet To Come.... Bare Twigs In Autumn Are Signs For Sadness; We Feel The Good Time Is Well-nigh Past.

Round The World And Home Again, That's The Sailor's Way!