No More Learning

May no passion chase away that sense,
That feels a bliss in charms like thine;
Whether, enshrin'd in autumn's clouds,
You* touch the /eaves with yellow tints,
Or raise, before the reaper's mind,
Grain to fill his future sheaves ;
The wand'rer with the Zephyr's breeze
Whether you cheer 'mid summer's blaze,
Or paint the trees with           green,
When Spring's warmth endears her milder dayi.