William Allingham ( 2 of 2 )
 Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods,
 And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt,
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 Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods,
 And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt,
  And night by night the monitory blast
   Wails in the key-hole, telling how it pass'd
    O'er empty fields, or upland solitudes,
     Or grim wide wave; and now the power is felt
      Of melancholy, tenderer in its moods
       Than any joy indulgent Summer dealt. 
 Till glowworms light owl-watchmen's flight
 Through our green metropolis.  
 Till glowworms light owl-watchmen's flight
 Through our green metropolis.