"When the grey lake-water rushes
Past the dripping beech-bushes,
And the bodeful autumn wind
In the fir-tree weeps and hushes, --
When the air is sharply damp
Round the solitary camp,
And the deer-bush in the thicket
Glimmers like a dew-lit lamp, --
When the birches twinkle yellow,
And the fern bunches mellow,
And the owl across the twilight
Trumpets to his downy fellow,
None knows a noble treads
In unkempt cloak and beaten threads
Through the shadow of low oak's gaze
While innocents sleep in warm feather beds."
