In autumn moonlight, when the white air wan 
Is fragrant in the wake of summer hence, 
'Tis sweet to sit entranced, and muse thereon 
In melancholy and godlike indolence: 
When the proud spirit, lull'd by mortal prime 
To fond pretence of immortality, 
Vieweth all moments from the birth of time, 
All things whate'er have been or yet shall be. 
And like the garden, where the year is spent, 
The ruin of old life is full of yearning, 
Mingling poetic rapture of lament 
With flowers and sunshine of spring's sure returning; 
Only in visions of the white air wan 
By godlike fancy seized and dwelt upon.