When nuts behind the hazel-leaf <br />Are brown as the squirrel that hunts them free, <br />And the fields are rich with the sun-burnt sheaf, <br />'Mid the blue cornflower and the yellowing tree; <br />And the farmer glows and beams in his glee; <br /> <br />O then is the season to wed thee a bride! <br />Ere the garners are filled and the ale-cups foam; <br />For a smiling hostess is the pride <br />And flower of every Harvest Home.<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-autumn/
