110 
WITH DOG AND DAME 
 
We wake her passion, either one 
Licking each pouting pair of lips 
Till new sweet streams of nectar run. 
’ Tis Autumn, and the dying breeze 
Murmurs “ embrace ”;  the moon replies 
“ Embrace ” ;  the soughing of the trees 
Calls us to linger loverwise, 
And drain our passion to the lees. 
 
’ Tis Autumn.  The belated dove 
Calls through the beeches, that bestir 
Themselves to kiss the skies above, 
As I will kiss with him and her. 
Leave us, sweet Autumn, to our love.