THE SEASON.
{"newspaper_name": "The Columbian fountain.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
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BY THoMA HOOD.
Summers gone and over!
Fogs are falling down;
And with russet tinges,
Autumn's doing brown.
Boughs are daily rihed


BY the gusty thieves,
And the Book of Nature
Getteth short of leaves.
Round the tops of houses
Swallows as they fit
Give like yearly tenants.
Notices to quit,
Skies of tickle temper


Weep by turns and laugh
Night and Day together
Taking half-and-half,
So September endeth---
Cold and most perverse---
But the months that follow
Sure will pinch us worsel