I Shot An Arrow Into The Air,

No One Is So Accursed By Fate, No One So Utterly Desolate, But Some Heart Though Unknown Responds Unto His Own.

The Day Is Dark And Cold And Dreary; It Rains, And The Wind Is Never Weary.

The Gentle Wind, A Sweet And Passionate Wooer, Kisses The Blushing Leaf.

Sit In Reverie And Watch The Changing Color Of The Waves That Break Upon The Idle Seashore Of The Mind.

Magnificent Autumn! He Comes Not Like A Pilgrim, Clad In Russet Weeds; Not Like A Hermit, Clad In Gray; But Like A Warrior With The Stain Of Blood In His Brazen Mail.