Whence, the faint smoke floats away;
And, in the distance, the half-hazy woods
Glow with the barren glory of decay . . .
Fall, leaves, fall; die flowers away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
Of all Earth's varied, lovely moods,
The loveliest is when she broods
Among the dreamy solitudes
On Indian summer days.
The hound of the autumn wind is slow,
She loves to bask in the heat and sleep.
What is it about autumn that has always attracted poets?
Thanks to Alfred Austin, Emily Bronte, Helena Coleman and Peter McArthur for their seasonal words.