Autumn poetry

Saturday, October 12, 2019

There is something in the autumn that is native to my
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme, 
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. 

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills 
To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.
There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her, 
When from every hill of flame
She calls and calls each vagabond by name. 
--Bliss Carman

Till the moon is beaming
And the stubble gleaming, 
Harvest songs go round. 
--Ludwig Christoph Heinrich Holty

Fair when the woodland strains and creaks
As loud the gatherine whirlwinds blow
And through the smoke-like mists the Peaks
In warm autumnal purples glow…

--George Francis Savage-Armstrong

I love the fitful gusts that shakes
The casement all the day
And from the mossy elm tree takes
The faded leaf away
Twirling it by the window-pane
With thousands others down the lane

I love to see the shaking twig
Dance till the shut of eve
The sparrow on the cottage rig
Whose chirp would make believe
That spring was just now flirting by
In summer's lap with flowers to lie
--John Clare, "Autumn"

In all the other gardens
And all up in 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!
--Robert Louis Stevenson, "Autumn Fires"

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