Classic Poem

Now I am minded to take pipe in hand
And yield a song to the decaying year;
Now while the full-leaved hursts unalter'd stand,┬░
And scarcely does appear
The Autumn yellow feather in the boughs;
While there is neither sun nor rain;
And a grey heaven does the hush'd earth house,
And bluer grey the flocks of trees look in the plain.

So late the hoar green chestnut breaks a bud,
And feeds new leaves upon the winds of Fall;
So late there is no force in sap or blood;
The fruit against the wall
Loose on the stem has done its summering;
These should have starv'd with the green broods of spring,
Or never been at all;
Too late or else much, much too soon,
Who first knew moonlight by the hunters' moon.┬░