With what a glory comes and goes the year! <br />The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers <br />Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy <br />Life's newness, and earth's garniture spread out; <br />And when the silver habit of the clouds <br />Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with <br />A sober gladness the old year takes up <br />His bright inheritance of golden fruits, <br />A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene. <br /> <br />There is a beautiful spirit breathing now <br />Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, <br />And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, <br />Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, <br />And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. <br />Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, <br />Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales <br />The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, <br />Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life <br />Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, <br />And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, <br />Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down <br />By the wayside a-weary. Through the trees <br />The golden robin moves. The purple finch, <br />That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, <br />A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle, <br />And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud <br />From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings, <br />And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke, <br />Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. <br /> <br />O what a glory doth this world put on <br />For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth <br />Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks <br />On duties well performed, and days well spent! <br />For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves, <br />Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings. <br />He shall so hear the solemn hymn that Death <br />Has lifted up for all, that he shall go <br />To his long resting-place without a tear.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/earlier-poems-autumn/
