Classic Poem

O golden green an autumn's breast
Tha-wilt not bring my sorrows rest;
Console the distant azure hill,
The man of cloud and clover and rill.

My heart was sad, I walked alone
Crowed the lake with shadows downs;
For me no sunny vista smiled,
No friends no love my doom beguiled.

And all I had was memory's shrave
Of Withered hopes, no longer nine,
O golden green an autumnus beast,
Thus wilt not bring my sorrows rests.