The mellow autumn came, and with it came
The promised party, to enjoy its sweets.
The corn is cut, the manor full of game;
The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats
In russet jacket;--lynx-like is his aim;
Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats.
An, nutbrown partridges! An, brilliant pheasants!
And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.
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It was Autumn, and incessant
Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves,
And, like living coals, the read more
It was Autumn, and incessant
Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves,
And, like living coals, the apples
Burned among the withering leaves.
Every season hath its pleasure;
Spring may boast her flowery prime,
Yet the vineyard's ruby treasuries
read more
Every season hath its pleasure;
Spring may boast her flowery prime,
Yet the vineyard's ruby treasuries
Brighten Autumn's sob'rer time.
The year's in wane;
There is nothing adorning;
The night has no eve,
And read more
The year's in wane;
There is nothing adorning;
The night has no eve,
And the day has no morning;
Cold winter gives warning!
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to read more
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core.
A breath, whence no man knows,
Swaying the grating weeds, it blows;
It comes, it grieves, it read more
A breath, whence no man knows,
Swaying the grating weeds, it blows;
It comes, it grieves, it goes.
Once it rocked the summer rose.
Thus sung the shepherds till th' approach of night,
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
When read more
Thus sung the shepherds till th' approach of night,
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade,
And the low sun had lengthened every shade.
The melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown read more
The melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.
Autumn
Into earth's lap does throw
Brown apples gay in a game of play,
read more
Autumn
Into earth's lap does throw
Brown apples gay in a game of play,
As the equinoctials blow.
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.
