Accursèd be the Flyaways
That float upon my Head—
When the Autumn—catches Fire—
And Dances—with the Wind—
The Two enjoy Playing
With the Wispies along my Hair—
They push it this way and Back Again—
They pull it here and there!
Why must the Autumn Fire be so warlike?
And Why the Wind so eager to fight?
'Tis only a few Flyaways
Not a whole army of Kites!