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Autumn Poems
Autumn Poems by Bristish and American Writers Below I offer up a collection of short autumn poems. Sometimes, while walking during autumn's crisp, cool days, we wish we were good at putting feelings into verse. I don't mind penning poetry that is not far from my attempts as a grade-schooler. I like the simple thoughts and feelings. In selecting the autumn poems I kept simple feelings and thoughts in mind. All the following short verses were taken from works in the public domain published online by the Gutenberg Project (www.gutenberg.org). I collected the autumn poems from several anthologies.The authors have all long passed on and the copyrights have expired. Feel free to use them as you wish. They are perfect to include in a nature journal. Another great source for autumn poems, and nature verses in general, is Chinese and Japanese poetry. It is hard to find out of copyright collections of translated Chinese and Japanese poems, so I haven't included any. But, Japanese and Chinese nature verses are my all time favorites. You may be able to find some good collections in your local library or thorugh bookstores. Autumn by John Clare (English, 1793-1864) The thistle-down's flying, though the winds are all still, On the green grass now lying, now mounting the hill, The spring from the fountain now boils like a pot; Through stones past the counting it bubbles red hot. The ground parched and cracked is like overbaked bread, The greensward all wracked is, bents dried up and dead. The fallow fields glitter like water indeed, And gossamers twitter, flung from weed unto weed. Hill tops like hot iron glitter bright in the sun, And the rivers we're eying burn to gold as they run; Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air; Whoever looks round sees Eternity there. Autumn by John Clare (English, 1793-1864) I love the fitful gust that shakes The casement all the day, And from the glossy elm tree takes The faded leaves away, Twirling them by the window pane With thousand others down the lane. I love to see the shaking twig Dance till the shut of eve, The sparrow on the cottage rig, Whose chirp would make believe That Spring was just now flirting by In Summer's lap with flowers to lie. I love to see the cottage smoke Curl upwards through the trees, The pigeons nestled round the cote On November days like these; The cock upon the dunghill crowing, The mill sails on the heath a-going. The feather from the raven's breast Falls on the stubble lea, The acorns near the old crow's nest Drop pattering down the tree; The grunting pigs, that wait for all, Scramble and hurry where they fall. AUTUMN LEAVES by Charles Dickens (English, 1812-1870) AUTUMN leaves, autumn leaves Lie strewn around me here, Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, How sad, how cold, how drear! How like the hopes of childhood's day, Thick clust'ring on the bough! How like those hopes in their decay— How faded are they now! Withered leaves, withered leaves, That fly before the gale; Withered leaves, withered leaves, Ye tell a mournful tale Of love once true, and friends once kind, And happy moments fled: Dispersed by every breath of wind, Forgotten, changed, or dead. AUTUMN by Thomas Hood (English, 1799-1845) THE Autumn skies are flushed with gold, And fair and bright the rivers run; These are but streams of winter cold, And painted mists that quench the sun. In secret boughs no sweet birds sing, In secret boughs no bird can shroud; These are but leaves that take to wing, And wintry winds that pipe so loud. 'Tis not trees' shade, but cloudy glooms That on the cheerless valleys fall, The flowers are in their grassy tombs, And tears of dew are on them all. AUTUMN ON THE UPPERTHAMES, FROM THE GLITTERING PLAIN by William Morris (English, 1834 - 1896) Fair is the world, now autumn's wearing, And the sluggard sun lies long abed; Sweet are the days, now winter's nearing, And all winds feign that the wind is dead. Dumb is the hedge where the crabs hang yellow, Bright as the blossoms of the spring; Dumb is the close where the pears grow mellow, And none but the dauntless redbreasts sing. Fair was the spring, but amidst his greening Grey were the days of the hidden sun; Fair was the summer, but overweening, So soon his o'er-sweet days were done. Come then, love, for peace is upon us, Far off is failing, and far is fear, Here where the rest in the end hath won us, In the garnering tide of the happy year. Come from the grey old house by the water, Where, far from the lips of the hungry sea, Green groweth the grass o'er the field of the slaughter, And all is a tale for thee and me. VERSES FOR PICTURES: AUTUMN by William Morris (English, 1834-1896) Laden Autumn here I stand Worn of heart, and weak of hand: Nought but rest seems good to me, Speak the word that sets me free. AUTUMN TINTS by Mathilde Blind (German, 1847 - 1896) CORAL-COLOURED yew-berries Strew the garden ways, Hollyhocks and sunflowers Make a dazzling blaze In these latter days. Marigolds by cottage doors Flaunt their golden pride, Crimson-punctured bramble leaves Dapple far and wide The green mountain-side. Far away, on hilly slopes Where fleet rivulets run, Miles on miles of tangled fern, Burnished by the sun, Glow a copper dun. For the year that's on the wane, Gathering all its fire, Flares up through the kindling world As, ere they expire, Flames leap high and higher. AUTUMN BIRDS by John Clare (English, 1793-1864) The wild duck startles, like a sudden thought And heron slow as if it might be caught The flopping crows on weary wing go bye And grey beard jackdaws noising as they flye The crowds of starnels wiz and hurry bye And darken like a cloud the evening sky The larks like thunder rise and suthy round Then drop and nestle in the stubble ground The wild swan hurrys high and noises loud With neck necks peering to the evening cloud The weary rooks to distant woods are gone With length of tail the magpie winnows on To neighbouring tree and leaves the distant crow While small birds nestle in the hedge below. THEAUTUMN ROBIN by John Clare (English,1793-1864) Sweet little bird in russet coat, The livery of the closing year, I love thy lonely plaintive note And tiny whispering song to hear, While on the stile or garden seat I sit to watch the falling leaves, The song thy little joys repeat My loneliness relieves. AUTUMN by Emily Dickinson (American, 1830-1886) THE morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown; The berry's cheek is plumper, The rose is out of town. The maple wears a gayer scarf, The field a scarlet gown. Lest I should be old-fashioned, I'll put a trinket on. Return to Nature in Fall from Autumn Poems
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