by: William Blake (1757-1827)
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain'd
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st 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.
'The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.
'The spirits of the air live in the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.'
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,
Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.
by: Albert Laighton (1829-1887)
The world puts on its robes of glory now;
The very flowers are tinged with deeper dyes;
The waves are bluer, and the angels pitch
Their shining tents along the sunset skies.
The distant hills are crowned with purple mist;
The days are mellow, and the long, calm nights,
To wondering eyes like weird magicians show
The shifting splendors of the Northern Lights.
The generous earth spreads out her fruitful stores,
And all the fields are decked with ripened sheaves;
While in the woods, at Autumn's rustling step,
The maples blush through all their trembling leaves.
by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)
In the other gardens
And all up the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail!
Pleasant summer over
And all the summer flowers,
The red fire blazes,
The grey smoke towers.
Sing a song of seasons!
Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
Fires in the fall!
"Autumn--The Fall of the Leaf"
by: S. Moore
Summer's lovely meadows green,
Sylvan shades and fairy bowers,
Dewy dawns and eves serene,
Balmy air and pretty flowers,--
All these sweets will soon be gone,
Fading, dying one by one.
Autumn breathes a colder breath,
Warning us of winter's chill--
Nature passes on to death,
Beautiful in dying still,--
Cheeks aglowing in decay,
Blushing as they fade away.
Could there be a grander sight,
Than our forests' rainbow tints,
Glancing, changing in the light,
Fairer far than colour'd prints,--
Surely death cannot be grief,
To that rosy maple leaf.
Emblem of my fleeting days,
Verdant, change, frail and brief,--
O! that as my strength decays,
I may show the maple leaf--
Fair in every passing stage,
Still more beautiful in age.