Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, <br /> With banners, by great gales incessant fanned, <br /> Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand, <br /> And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain! <br />Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne, <br /> Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand <br /> Outstretched with benedictions o'er the land, <br /> Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain! <br />Thy shield is the red harvest moon, suspended <br /> So long beneath the heaven's o'er-hanging eaves; <br /> Thy steps are by the farmer's prayers attended; <br />Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves; <br /> And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid, <br /> Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves!<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/autumn-2/
