Autumn - An 1855 Poem

By Longfellow.

O, with what glory comes and goes this year!

The buds of Spring — those beautiful harbingers

Of sunny skies and cloudless times — enjoy

Life's newness, and earth's garmiture spread out!

And when the silver habit of the clouds

Comes down upon the Autumn sun,

And with a sober gladness the old year

Takes up his bright inheritance of golden fruit,

A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene.

 

There is a beautiful spirit breathing now

Its mellow richness on the clustered trees,

And from a beaker full of richest dyes,

Pouring new glory on the autumn woods,

And dipping in warm light the pillar'd clouds.

Morn, on the mountain, like a summer bird,

Lifts up her purple wing; and in the vales

The gentle wind — a sweet and passionate wooer,

Kisses the blushing leaf and stirs up life

Within the autumn woods of ash deep crimsoned,

And silver-beech, and maple yellow-leaved,

Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down

By the way-side a-weary. Through the trees

The golden robin moves; the purple finch,

That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds —

A winter bird comes with its plaintive whistle,

And peeks by the witch hazel; whilst aloud

From cottage roofs the warbling blue bird sings;

And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke

Sounds from the threshing floor the busy flail.

 

O, what a glory doth this world put on

For him who, with fervent heart, goes forth

Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks

On duties well performed and days well spent!

For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves,

Shall have a voice and give him eloquent teachings.

He shall so hear the solemn hymn that Death

Has lifted up for all, that he shall go

To his last resting place without a tear!

November 3, 1855. Washington D.C. Evening Star 6(885): 4.