Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson,
Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green.
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Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson,
Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green.
Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing
With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.

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!

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!

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!

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.

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.

What visionary tints the year puts on,
When falling leaves falter through motionless air
Or numbly cling read more

What visionary tints the year puts on,
When falling leaves falter through motionless air
Or numbly cling and shiver to be gone!
How shimmer the low flats and pastures bare,
As with her nectar Hebe Autumn fills
The bowl between me and those distant hills,
And smiles and shakes abroad her misty, tremulous hair!

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.

Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods,
And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt,
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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.