Wear furs about their shoulders, for autumn winds are keen,
And rusty curling edges fleck the chestnuts' green.
The mists hang gauzy curtains of pearl and pigeon-blue
Between us and the distance, the street-lamps shining through
Wear each a golden halo diaphanous and fair—
But not one whit more lovely than my own clear air.
More dear than you can dream it, as bright as diamond
It bathes the plains and ridges and the hills beyond,
It bathes the pillared woodlands that ring with bellbird notes,
With mating calls and answers from a thousand throats.
