AUTUMN. ITH what a glory comes and goes the year; There is a beautiful spirit breathing now From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings; Sounds from the thrashing-floor the busy flail. Oh, what a glory doth this world put on For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks On duties well perform'd, and days well spent! For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves, Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings; He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death Has lifted up for all, that he shall go To his long resting-place without a tear. Longfellow. AUTUMN. SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness! Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd and plump the hazel-shells And still more, later flowers for the bees, For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, |