The Wild Swans at Coole

The trees are in their autumn beauty, The woodland paths are dry, Under the leaves that are yellowing, The sky is a blue-grey lie.

And the wild swans come sailing, Across the moonlit glade, In the falls of the shimmering waters — The dance of the light has made!

Come take of the nature, and play the sweet tune, As the swans will glide through each silvery rune, We find ourselves lost — where soft shadows sprawl, And Nature calls gentle with wonders for all!

• Rudyard Kipling