I love the fitful gust that shakes
The casement all day,
And from the mossy elm - tree takes
The faded leaves away,
Twirling them by the window pane
With thousand others down the lane.
I love to see the shaking twig
Dance till the shut of eve
The sparrow on the cottage rig,
Whose chirp would make believe
That spring was just now flirting by
In summer's lap with flowers to lie.