His glassy essence--like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As make the angels weep!
126
SHAKS.: _M. for M.,_ Act ii., Sc. 2.


=Autumn.=

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With, fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core.
127
KEATS: _To Autumn._

Divinest autumn! who may paint thee best,
Forever changeful o'er the changeful globe?
Who guess thy certain crown, thy favorite crest,
The fashion of thy many-colored robe?
128
R.H. STODDARD: _Autumn._

Autumn wins you best by this its mute
Appeal to sympathy for its decay.
129
ROBERT BROWNING: _Paracelsus,_ Sc. i.