I Saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Thomas Hood
Along the Woodford road there comes a noise
It is not death, that sometime in a sigh
A Pathetic Ballad
Young Ben he was a nice young man,
I will not have the mad Clytie,
'Twas in the prime of summer-time
Oh, very gloomy is the house of woe,
With fingers weary and worn,
It was not in the Winter