Poems (Gifford)/Autumn
For works with similar titles, see Autumn.
AUTUMN.
It seems but yesterday that we rejoicedTo welcome the first pledges of the springOn tree and hedgerow; yet those tiny shootsHave swelled and opened into myriad leaves,Clothing the earth with an unrivalled robeOf verdure, decked with flowers of every hueThroughout the glorious summer. Ah!but nowThe bright, brief day of Flora's happy reignIs well-nigh over, the rich wealth of leavesIs hastening to decay, and soon we knowThe autumn winds will scatter them to earth.
Yet has the dying summer left to usA precious legacy of grain and fruit,And, ere it bares the trees, the autumn bringsThe common joy of harvest, true and deep.Now do the broad fields stand so thick with cornThey laugh and sing, and, catching their refrain,The reaper labours with a hearty will,Never so blithe as now, when bygone toilMeets with its glad and plentiful success.******How oft the sun in undimmed splendour shinesThroughout the day, then hides awhile at eveBehind earth's rising vapours, to break forthBefore it passes the horizon's boundIn majesty ineffable, and paintWith every rainbow tint the western sky!So, when the evening of the year comes on,All nature dons at first a sober dress,Then fading leaves in later days revealA splendour that the summer never knew.The spreading elm is softly shaded nowFrom green to brightest orange, and the beech Seen in the light of the descending sunGlows like a monster fire; the cherry-treeIs dyed to richest crimson, and the oakBlends many a shade of yellow, green, and brown;While still the stately cedar-tree retainsIts garb of changeless verdure, to contrastWith the more gorgeous beauty of the rest.
Too soon the picture changes, and presentsBare, silent fields, and thick and chilling mists,And gloomy skies and long and driving rains,And narrowing days. Ah, yes! farewellTo all things summerlike, a long farewell!
Yet e'en this season hath its own dear joys,Now does the household hearth renew its charmsAnd restful days succeed to busy toil;And oh! the grandeur of the calm, clear night,Again we greet the half-forgotten gemsOf the fair heavens,—the sweet Pleiades,Orion bold and Sirius his train-bearer;And, though the chorus of the groves is hushed,The robin sings his solo at our door,And the chrysanthemums are bright and gay.
Oh, autumn! thou art very beautiful,And very drear! Thou hast so much of joy,So much too of regret! Yet, as we sigh,We hear thee whisper of a spring to be,A blessed spring of glory unalloyed,That shall not pass away.