Algy set off homewards and it wasn’t very long before he found himself back in familiar territory. The changing season had turned the landscape into a beautiful patchwork of oranges, browns and evergreens, and Algy was thrilled to see the lovely hues of autumn colouring the mountains and moors. It was almost warm on the sunny side of the hill, so Algy leaned back against the soft grasses, and remembered some verses from a 19th century poem:

          The summer-flower has run to seed,
          And yellow is the woodland bough;
          And every leaf of bush and weed
          Is tipt with autumn’s pencil now.

          And I do love the varied hue,
          And I do love the browning plain;
          And I do love each scene to view,
          That’s mark’d with beauties of her reign.

          The woodbine-trees red berries bear,
          That clustering hang upon the bower;
          While, fondly lingering here and there,
          Peeps out a dwindling sickly flower.

          The trees’ gay leaves are turned brown,
          By every little wind undress’d;
          And as they flap and whistle down,
          We see the birds’ deserted nest.

[Algy is quoting some verses from the poem Autumn, from the collection The Village Minstrel by the 19th century English poet John Clare.]

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