Poems (Charlotte Allen)/Autumn (Summer hath passed, and its sweets are gone)
For works with similar titles, see Autumn.
AUTUMN.
Summer hath passed, and its sweets are gone,
The lovely flowers and the bird's gay song:
The once green leaves lie scattered and sere,
The cold—cold earth is their funeral bier,
While their dying requiem is hoarsely sung,
By the Autumn breeze in the woods among.
Not a vestige remains of the once gay scene,
When nature was clothed in a robe of green,
All things are stamped with the word decay;
All lovely scenes are fast passing away;
Not a flower is seen to glad the eye,
Though the sun still shines from yon blue sky.
The wandering brooks are smoothly flowing,
Though not with the gush of summer glowing.
The stars yet shine, and the moon doth still
Shed its mild light o'er valley and hill.
But it beameth not o'er a verdant dale,
O'er a grassy mount, or a flowery vale,
For the face of earth wears a darksome hue,
No opening blossoms now meet our view.
Why do we love the frail things of this earth,
Since all are transient, so frail their birth?
The summer will pass, and its sweets decay,
And Autumn and winter will wear away,
Yet Spring and Summer again will appear,
And reviving nature our bosoms cheer.
To us, frail mortals, the Spring of life past,
It ne'er can return, 't was the first and the last!
Then, may we improve our time as it flies;
Lay up a treasure of worth in the skies,
And let us e'er live, as knowing we must die,
May we be prepared for mansions on high;
And when our Spring and Summer hath past,
And the Autumn of life is fading fast,
With a smile may we bid this world farewell,
And sigh for the realms where the blessed dwell.
The lovely flowers and the bird's gay song:
The once green leaves lie scattered and sere,
The cold—cold earth is their funeral bier,
While their dying requiem is hoarsely sung,
By the Autumn breeze in the woods among.
Not a vestige remains of the once gay scene,
When nature was clothed in a robe of green,
All things are stamped with the word decay;
All lovely scenes are fast passing away;
Not a flower is seen to glad the eye,
Though the sun still shines from yon blue sky.
The wandering brooks are smoothly flowing,
Though not with the gush of summer glowing.
The stars yet shine, and the moon doth still
Shed its mild light o'er valley and hill.
But it beameth not o'er a verdant dale,
O'er a grassy mount, or a flowery vale,
For the face of earth wears a darksome hue,
No opening blossoms now meet our view.
Why do we love the frail things of this earth,
Since all are transient, so frail their birth?
The summer will pass, and its sweets decay,
And Autumn and winter will wear away,
Yet Spring and Summer again will appear,
And reviving nature our bosoms cheer.
To us, frail mortals, the Spring of life past,
It ne'er can return, 't was the first and the last!
Then, may we improve our time as it flies;
Lay up a treasure of worth in the skies,
And let us e'er live, as knowing we must die,
May we be prepared for mansions on high;
And when our Spring and Summer hath past,
And the Autumn of life is fading fast,
With a smile may we bid this world farewell,
And sigh for the realms where the blessed dwell.