Shyly the silver-hatted mushrooms make 
 Soft entrance through, 
And undelivered lovers, half awake, 
 Hear noises in the dew 

Yellow in all the earth and in the skies, 
 The world would seem 
Faint as a widow mourning with soft eyes 
 And falling into dream. 

Up the long hill I see the slow plough leave 
 Furrows of brown; 
Dim is the day and beautiful: I grieve 
 To see the sun go down. 

But there are suns a many for mine eyes 
 Day after day: 
Delightsome in grave greenery they rise, 
 Red oranges in May.