Avenue in Savernake Forest

How soothing sound the gentle airs that moveThe innumerable leaves, high overhead,When autumn first, from the long avenue,That lifts its arching height of ancient shade,Steals here and there a leaf!Within the gloom,In partial sunshine white, some trunks appear,Studding the glens of fern; in solemn shadeSome mingle their dark branches, but yet all,All make a sad sweet music, as they move,Not undelightful to a stranger's heart.They seem to say, in accents audible,Farewell to summer, and farewell the strainsOf many a lithe and feathered chorister,That through the depth of these incumbent woodsMade the long summer gladsome.I have heardTo the deep-mingling sounds of organs clear,(When slow the choral anthem rose beneath),The glimmering minster, through its pillared aisles,Echo;--but not more sweet the vaulted roofRang to those linked harmonies, than hereThe high wood answers to the lightest breathOf nature.Oh, may such sweet music steal,Soothing the cares of venerable age,From public toil retired: may it awake,As, still and slow, the sun of life declines,Remembrances, not mournful, but most sweet;May it, as oft beneath the sylvan shadeTheir honoured owner strays, come like the soundOf distant seraph harps, yet speaking clear!How poor is every sound of earthly things,When heaven's own music waits the just and pure!