Rich Days

 Welcome to you rich Autumn days, 
Ere comes the cold, leaf-picking wind; 
When golden stocks are seen in fields, 
All standing arm-in-arm entwined; 
And gallons of sweet cider seen 
On trees in apples red and green.


With mellow pears that cheat our teeth, 
Which melt that tongues may suck them in; 
With blue-black damsons, yellow plums, 
Now sweet and soft from stone to skin; 
And woodnuts rich, to make us go 
Into the loneliest lanes we know.

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