Then came October: the season of fruits and mellow fruitfulness
When leaves are green, with hues of dappled red
Then yearns my heart for pastures new and wide
To seek the woods and walk.
A lonely life but pleasant calm and free
No office mine, nor castle, nor the sea
But land and woods and dale and sward and lea.
Be not the leman not the layman and take not the plough
The leaves are falling – Come – Come with me now!

The birds migrate; in flocks they wing, they soar
They will not stay and face the winter’s ****;
With no return ‘til winter’s gone and o’er.
Come – let the forest ring with tunes and song
And drink WassHeil like Saxons gone ere long.
No cage of stone, nor brick, nor wood
To sit in while cold winter lasts,
We shall yet be like bards of Cymraeg blood
Until the day when we shall raise a brood
Who are born free and have no need for life
In towns but live for song and food.
E’er civilisation turned men’s hearts stone cold
Away from *** and ***** and axe
To offices and pay and perks and tax!

The wanderlust is in my eyes
I seek the land and starry skies
Alone – so I may freely roam
And feel beneath my feet the good, rich loam.
Like bards of old who sang of hill and dale
No wine for us but good clear headstrong ale
The land, the land, will call me evermore
And evermore I must say nevermore
The years is dying – ah but so is man
As leaves fall down, why even so, doth man
Who seek to ascertain the reason why.
When squirrels hibernate, they make good cheer
The summer comes and goes but they fear
Nought but man who kills for sport.
For autumn is the season when all beasts
Are chased and hunted, killed and caught
Of wanton destruction of life and limb

And man; he thinks that he may climb
Up to the stars, with his great intellect
But winter makes him cut and ****
The trees most wonderful to ward off chill
Of winters bite by burning them on fires.
Alas! give me the days of lore and lyres,
When fruit is ripe and beasts and fowls,
Make ready for the coming tribulation,
Of winter when the land is seized and fast.
Alas! Is man the King of fauna now and past?

Oh not for them the holocausts of war.
And yet man has the tales of Pagan Rites
Walpurgis Nacht and Hallowe’en
Which he has had since air was clean
And pure and earth as yet unsullied.
When man and earth were young and free
Man should go back to being primitive
When then, surely not now
He did know how to live.