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As autumn paints the world in amber and gold, poetry becomes a perfect companion for those contemplative fall days. This collection brings together twenty carefully selected poems that capture the essence of autumn – from the gentle flutter of falling leaves to the rich metaphors of harvest and change. Each poem has been chosen for its ability to evoke the special magic of this transitional season, whether through vivid imagery, emotional resonance, or deep philosophical reflection.
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core.
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence.
The whiskey stink of rot has settled
in the garden, and a burst of fruit flies rises
when I touch the dying tomato plants.
But the air is perfect.
Sweet. Cool enough.
October gave a party;
The leaves by hundreds came—
The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
Professor Wind the band.
I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper
sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The heat of autumn
is different from the heat of summer.
One ripens apples, the other turns them to cider.
Listen…
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees
And fall.
All day I have watched the purple vine leaves
Fall into the water.
And now in the moonlight they still fall,
But each leaf is fringed with silver.
In the chill of October
Morning breaks
Through branches
Already bare,
And the aging heart awakens
To memories of warmer days.
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.
Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,
the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back
from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere.
The sky puts on the darkening blue coat
held for it by a row of ancient trees;
you watch: and the lands grow distant in your sight,
one journeying to heaven, one that falls.
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the spirit of song goes singing,
Never a cricket, but in the grass tonight it is ringing.
Besides the Autumn poets sing,
A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the Haze.
Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind—
Thy windy will to bear!
In the other gardens
And all up in the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail!
Pleasant summer over
And all the summer flowers,
The red fire blazes,
The grey smoke towers.
Wind strips the trees
one leaf at a time
until their bare branches
rake the sky
like empty hands
reaching.
The rain falls on the trees
And their blossoms and leaves fall silently
The rain falls on the stones
The stones go down into silence
The rain falls on my heart
And my thoughts fall silently.
Snow would be the easy
way out—that softening
sky like a sigh of relief
at finally being allowed
to yield. No dice.
We’ve got to wait. We’ve got
to wait for the monthlong
drizzle, the sodden ground.
These twenty poems represent the rich tapestry of autumn through various poetic voices and eras. From Keats’s classical meditation on the season’s abundance to contemporary reflections on environmental change, each piece offers a unique perspective on fall’s transformative power. Whether you’re seeking comfort on a chilly evening, inspiration for your own writing, or simply a moment of connection with the changing season, these poems provide a perfect accompaniment to autumn’s gentle decline into winter.
This collection reminds us that autumn poetry continues to resonate across generations because it speaks to universal experiences: the beauty of change, the melancholy of endings, and the promise of renewal. As you read these works, may they enhance your appreciation of autumn’s fleeting splendor and deepen your connection to this most contemplative of seasons.