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Autumn Poems

Just randomly decided to search for some Autumn poems on Goggle.  And these are a few that I found and liked.  Enjoy! :)

<tbody><tr><td colspan="2">To Autumn</td>
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<td class="rule" colspan="2" height="1"> gif</td>
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<td colspan="2">William Blake (from Poetical Sketches, 1783)</td>
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<td colspan="2">clr gif</td>
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<td colspan="2">


O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain’d

With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit

Beneath my shady roof; there thou may’st rest,

And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,

And all the daughters of the year shall dance!

Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.



“The narrow bud opens her beauties to

The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;

Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and

Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,

Till clust’ring Summer breaks forth into singing,

And feather’d clouds strew flowers round her head.



“The spirits of the air live in the smells

Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round

The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.”

Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,

Then rose, girded himself, and o’er the bleak

Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.
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<tbody><tr><td colspan="2">Sonnet 73</td>
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<td class="rule" colspan="2" height="1"> gif</td>
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<td colspan="2">by William Shakespeare (1609)</td>
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<td colspan="2">clr gif</td>
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<td colspan="2">


That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see’st the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west;

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire,

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the deathbed whereon it must expire,

Consumed with that which it was nourished by.

This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
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<tbody><tr><td colspan="2">Nothing Gold Can Stay</td>
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<td class="rule" colspan="2" height="1"> gif</td>
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<td colspan="2">Robert Frost (1923)</td>
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<td colspan="2">clr gif</td>
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<tr><td colspan="2"></td>
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<td colspan="2">clr gif</td>
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<tr>
<td colspan="2">Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.



</td></tr></tbody>
<tbody><tr><td colspan="2">Autumn Fires</td>
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<td class="rule" colspan="2" height="1"> gif</td>
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<td colspan="2">Robert Louis Stevenson (from A Child’s Garden of Verses, 1885)</td>
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<td colspan="2">clr gif</td>
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<td colspan="2">


In the other gardens

  And all up the vale,

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!
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<tbody><tr><td colspan="2">The Wild Swans at Coole</td>
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<td class="rule" colspan="2" height="1"> gif</td>
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<td colspan="2">William Butler Yeats (1919)</td>
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<td colspan="2">clr gif</td>
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<td colspan="2">


The trees are in their autumn beauty,

The woodland paths are dry,

Under the October twilight the water

Mirrors a still sky;

Upon the brimming water among the stones

Are nine-and-fifty swans.



The nineteenth autumn has come upon me

Since I first made my count;

I saw, before I had well finished,

All suddenly mount

And scatter wheeling in great broken rings

Upon their clamorous wings.



I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,

And now my heart is sore.

All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,

The first time on this shore,

The bell-beat of their wings above my head,

Trod with a lighter tread.



Unwearied still, lover by lover,

They paddle in the cold

Companionable streams or climb the air;

Their hearts have not grown old;

Passion or conquest, wander where they will,

Attend upon them still.



But now they drift on the still water,

Mysterious, beautiful;

Among what rushes will they build,

By what lake’s edge or pool

Delight men’s eyes when I awake some day

To find they have flown away?
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<tbody><tr><td colspan="2">Autumn Movement</td>
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<td class="rule" colspan="2" height="1"> gif</td>
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<td colspan="2">Carl Sandburg (1918)</td>
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<td colspan="2">clr gif</td>
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<td colspan="2">


I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.



The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the
copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.



The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes,
new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest
wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.
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Sorry for the funky formatting inside the cuts.

I love Autumn
<3




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