Poem by Bryan Waller Procter

Autumn Morning At Cambridge

I ran out in the morning when the air was clean and new,
And all the grass was glittering, grey with autumn dew,
I ran out to the apple trees and pulled an apple down,
And all the bells were ringing in the old grey town.

Down in the town, off the bridges and the grass,
They are sweeping up the leaves to let the people pass,
Sweeping up the old leaves, golden-reds and browns,
While the men go to lecture with the wind in their gowns. 

1. The Poet's Song to His Wife
2. Is My Lover on the Sea
3. A Poet’s Thought
4. Golden-Tressed Adelaide
5. Pre-Existence

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