AUTUMN

- When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,

And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill —

Bryant

The day becomes more solemn and serene
When noon is past there is a harmony

In Autumn, and a lustre in its sky,

Which thro' the Summer is not heard or seen.

Earth knows no desolation.

She smells regeneration

In the moist breath of decay.

Shelley

Meredith

O wind,

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

Shelley

AUTUMN

HIRT AUF DEM BERGE

HR Matten, lebt wohl!

IHR

Ihr sonnigen Weiden!

Der Senne muss scheiden,

Der Sommer ist hin.

Wir fahren zu Berg, wir kommen wieder,

Wenn der Kuckuck ruft, wenn erwachen die

Lieder,

Wenn mit Blumen die Erde sich kleidet neu,
Wenn die Brünnlein fliessen im lieblichen Mai.
Ihr Matten, lebt wohl!
Ihr sonnigen Weiden!
Der Senne muss scheiden,

Der Sommer ist hin.

Friedrich von Schiller

AUTUMN FIRES

IN the other gardens

IN the other gardevale,

From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail!

Pleasant summer over

And all the summer flowers,

The red fire blazes,

The gray smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons!
Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
Fires in the fall!

Robert Louis Stevenson

AT THE YELLOW OF THE LEAF

HE falling leaf is at the door;

TH

The autumn wind is on the hill;
Footsteps I have heard before
Loiter at my cabin sill.

Full of crimson and of gold
Is the morning in the leaves;
And a stillness pure and cold
Hangs about the frosty eaves.

The mysterious autumn haze
Steals across the blue ravine,
Like an Indian ghost that strays
Through his olden lost demesne.

Now the goldenrod invades
Every clearing in the hills;
The dry glow of August fades,
And the lonely cricket shrills.

Yes, by every trace and sign
The good roving days are here.
Mountain peak and river line
Float the scarlet of the year.

Lovelier than ever now

Is the world I love so well.
Running water, waving bough,
And the bright wind's magic spell

Rouse the taint of migrant blood
With the fever of the road,-
Impulse older than the flood
Lurking in its last abode.

Did I once pursue your way,
Litttle brothers of the air,
Following the vernal ray?
Did I learn my roving there?

Was it on your long spring rides,
Little brothers of the sea,
In the dim and peopled tides,
That I learned this vagrancy?

Now the yellow of the leaf
Bids away by hill and plain,
I shall say good-bye to grief,
Wayfellow with joy again.

The glamour of the open door
Is on me, and I would be gone,-
Speak with truth or speak no more,
House with beauty or with none.

Great and splendid, near and far,
Lies the province of desire;
Love the only silver star
Its discoverers require.

I shall lack nor tent nor food,
Nor companion in the way,
For the kindly solitude

Will provide for me to-day.