In autumn when the woods are red And skies are gray and clear, The sportsmen seek the wild fowls’ bed Or follow down the deer; And Cupid hunts by haugh and head, By riverside and mere. I walk, not seeing where I tread And keep my heart with fear. Sir, have an eye, on where you tread And keep your heart with fear, For something lingers here; A touch of April not yet dead, In Autumn when the woods are red And skies are gray and clear.
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In Autumn When the Woods Are Red
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