The well-filled granary,
  with worthy pride,
To view its goodly store
  invites the eye;
Upon the great barn floor
  the pumpkins lie
In yellow heaps;
  above on either side
The fragrant haymows rise,
  o’er reaching wide
Their boundaries, and upward
  stretching high
With rustling fodder crowded,
  as to outvie
Each other and the dingy
  rafters hide.

The generous cellar gives
  an ample space
To orchard fruits, and roots
  from garden fields;
The woodfire in the kitchen
  roars right well,
And seed and fruits
  for drying find a place
Around and o’r it;
  while the garret yields
Its room to nuts and herbs
  of fragrant smell.

The sky is swept by clouds of sombre hue;
The slothful sun creeps southward; through the trees,
With naked limbs upstretched, a chill raw breeze
Is blowing, shaking fitfully the few
Dead leaves yet clinging for a time ere through
The limpèd ether, one by one, shall these
Float downward to fulfill the last decrees
Of nature where she claims her rightful due.

The cows, no longer sent the hills to graze,
But surfeited with frost-bit meadow grass,
At random through neglected barways roam
And troop at will o’er once forbidden ways;
The air is songless, and in silence pass
The birds, to seek afar another home.