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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 Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
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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.
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!
Third act of the eternal play!
In poster-like emblazonries
"Autumn once more begins today"--
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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.
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.
Autumn
Into earth's lap does throw
Brown apples gay in a game of play,
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Autumn
Into earth's lap does throw
Brown apples gay in a game of play,
As the equinoctials blow.
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.
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.
The mellow autumn came, and with it came
The promised party, to enjoy its sweets.
The corn read more
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.