There is a spell in autumn early, <br />One all too brief, of an enchantment rare: <br />The nights are radiant and pearly, <br />The days, pellucid, crystal-clear. <br /> <br />Where played the sickle and fell the corn, a mellow, <br />A warm and breathless stillness reigns supreme; <br />Spanning the brown and idle furrow, <br />A dainty thread of cobweb gleams. <br /> <br />The birds have flown, we hear no more their clamour, <br />But winter's angry winds not soon will start to blow - <br />Upon the empty fields there pours the azure glow <br />Of skies that have not lost the warmth of summer.<br /><br />Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/there-is-a-spell-in-autumn/
