8 November 1802 – 14 November 1802

A beautiful day. William got to work again at Ariosto, and so continued all the morning, though the day was so delightful that it made my very heart long to be out of doors, and see and feel the beauty of the autumn in freedom. The trees on the opposite side of the lake are of a yellow brown, but there are one or two trees opposite our windows (an ash tree, for instance) quite green, as in spring. The fields are of their winter colour, but the island is as green as ever it was.... William is writing out his stanzas from Ariosto.... The evening is quiet. Poor Coleridge! Sara is at Keswick, I hope.... I have read one canto of Ariosto to-day....