To-night the winds begin to rise
         And roar from yonder dropping day:
         The last red leaf is whirl'd away,
The rooks are blown about the skies;
The forest crack'd, the waters curl'd,
         The cattle huddled on the lea;
         And wildly dash'd on tower and tree
The sunbeam strikes along the world:
And but for fancies, which aver
        That all thy motions gently pass
        Athwart a plane of molten glass,
I scarce could brook the strain and stir

That makes the barren branches loud;
        And but for fear it is not so,
        The wild unrest that lives in woe
Would dote and pore on yonder cloud

That rises upward always higher,
        And onward drags a labouring breast,
        And topples round the dreary west,
A looming bastion fringed with fire.