| “ | Salut, bois couronnés d'en reste de verdure |
| Feuillage, jaunissant sur les gazons épars,” |
writes M. de Lamartine, in his beautiful but plaintive verses to the season.
In Germany we shall find much the same tone prevailing.
“In des Herbstes welkem Kranze,”
says Schiller; and again,
| “ | Wenn der Frühlings Kinder sterben, |
| Wenn vom Norde's kaltem Hauch | |
| Blatt und Blume sich entfärben—” |
As for the noble poets of Italy, summer makes up half their year; the character of autumn is less decided; she is scarcely remembered until the last days of her reign, and then she would hardly be included among “i mesi gai.”
In short, while gay imagery has been lavished upon Spring and Summer, Autumn has more frequently received a sort of feuille morte drapery, by way of contrast. Among the older poets, by which are meant all who wrote previously to the last hundred years, these grave touches, in connection with autumn, are particularly common; and instances of an opposite character are comparatively seldom met with.
There were exceptions, however. Such glowing poets as Spenser and Thomson threw a warmer tint into their pictures of the season. But, strange to say, while paying her this compliment, they became untrue to nature—they robbed Summer to deck Autumn in her spoils. They both—British poets, as they were—put off the grain-harvest until September, when in truth the wheat-sheaf belongs especially to August, in England; that month
