Today I think
Only with scents, -scents dead leaves yield,
And bracken, and wild carrot's seed,
And the square mustard field;
Odours that rise
When the spade wounds the root of tree,
Rose, currant,raspberry,or goutweed,
Rhubarb or celery;
The smoke's smell,too,
Flowing from where a bonfire burns,
The dead, the waste,the dangerous,
And all to sweetness turns;
It is enough
To smell,to crumble the dark earth,
While the robin sings over again,
Sad songs of Autumn mirth.