Classic Poem

The last, the dying glory of the year,
More bright than all the splendour of the spring,
On woodland and on wold was glittering;
Far off the sapphire ocean bright and clear
Gleamed, and, a double light in sky and mere,
Purple and russet, gold and fiery red,
The flaming forest all its pomp outspread
As if it surely knew the end was near.

And soon, I thought, the end will come, the doom
Will fall upon the forest and the sea,
And winter with his rage and gusts and gloom
Will spoil and tear and ravage. But for me
The woods still glitter in the bright clear air,
And naught is changed: and all things are that were.