Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.Īnd then there is that day when all around, all around you hear the dropping of the apples, one by one, from the trees. The birds are consulting about their migrations, the trees are putting on the hectic or the pallid hues of decay, and begin to strew the ground, that one’s very footsteps may not disturb the repose of earth and air, while they give us a scent that is a perfect anodyne to the restless spirit. Is not this a true autumn day? Just the still melancholy that I love – that makes life and nature harmonise. Her pleasure in the walk must arise from the exercise and the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year upon the tawny leaves and withered hedges, and from repeating to herself some few of the thousand poetical descriptions extant of autumn–that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness–that season which has drawn from every poet worthy of being read some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling. ― from Letters on Cézanne, by Rainer Maria Rilke Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost. from “ September Tomatoes” by Karina BorowiczĪt no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Those pale flowers might still have time to fruit. To destroy what I’ve carefully cultivated all these months. Something in me isn’t ready to let go of summer so easily. from “ Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio ” by James Wright I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands, as directed to me, whispering, to congratulate me, For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night, In the stillness, in the autumn moonbeams, his face was inclined toward me, And his arm lay lightly around my breast-and that night I was happy.Īnd gallop terribly against each other’s bodies. from “ Sweater Weather” by Lisa Shields And I am swept like a crisp oak leaf into a duvet and down dream, where the pillows do not speak of the warm, the moments large and small when I nestle near you, demanding that arms dress me to close kept comfort. Don’t they give you a thrill-several thrills? I’m going to decorate my room with them.” It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn’t it? Look at these maple branches. “Oh, Marilla,” she exclaimed one Saturday morning, coming dancing in with her arms full of gorgeous boughs, “I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. Anne reveled in the world of color about her. October was a beautiful month at Green Gables, when the birches in the hollow turned as golden as sunshine and the maples behind the orchard were royal crimson and the wild cherry trees along the lane put on the loveliest shades of dark red and bronzy green, while the fields sunned themselves in aftermaths. They range from the sublime to the football themed to the simple and sad.Įnjoy them with your favorite hot drink, be it pumpkin-spiced or not. Here are some literary and poetic quotes to get you in an autumnal mood (omitting obvious choices from Frost, Shakespeare, and Keats). As the skies fill with clouds, the leaves turn yellow and begin to fall, and we gather our sweaters and boots together, it’s a good time to wax poetic about the changing seasons.
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