Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods,
And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt,
And night by night the monitory blast
Wails in the key-hole, telling how it pass'd
O'er empty fields, or upland solitudes,
Or grim wide wave; and now the power is felt
Of melancholy, tenderer in its moods
Than any joy indulgent Summer dealt.
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Third act of the eternal play!
In poster-like emblazonries
"Autumn once more begins today"--
read more
Third act of the eternal play!
In poster-like emblazonries
"Autumn once more begins today"--
'Tis written all across the trees
In yellow like Chinese.
Autumn wins you best by this, its mute
Appeal to sympathy for its decay.
Autumn wins you best by this, its mute
Appeal to sympathy for its decay.
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,
Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn.
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,
Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn.
Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes read more
Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.
Sorrow and the scarlet leaf,
Sad thoughts and sunny weather;
Ah me! this glory and this grief
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Sorrow and the scarlet leaf,
Sad thoughts and sunny weather;
Ah me! this glory and this grief
Agree not well together!
This sunlight shames November where he grieves
In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun
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This sunlight shames November where he grieves
In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun
The day, though bough with bough be overrun.
But with a blessing every glade receives
High salutation.
O, it sets my heart a clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the read more
O, it sets my heart a clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
The Autumn is old;
The sere leaves are flying;
He hath gather'd up gold,
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The Autumn is old;
The sere leaves are flying;
He hath gather'd up gold,
And now he is dying;--
Old age, begin sighing!
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
read more
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayest rest
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
