Autumn Is Weary Poem by Isaac Barton

The clouds o'er mountains drift,
The mountains drip the stream;
Snaking waters will quench the field,
Seeping, weeping their noisy tune
And land prepares for winter's yield,
Sounds of Autumn ending soon.

The Earth which bore the tree,
The wind which shakes the leaves;
Speaks to men in her whispered words,
Moaning, groaning decrepid tune
And upon the withered skin - the birds
Sing of Autumn ending soon.