Autumn

Behold the lovely Autumn In her golden draperies fair; She sweeps away the sullen aspect And the burdens of the year.

With her breezy breath of gladness, She refreshes all that grows, Pale to russet, faint to crimson— Autumn garbs in varied shows.

On the world’s soon-fallen harvests, Fall, O leaves, soft down like snow, Bring the ripened fruits of labor, The sweet blessings we bestow.

Ah! the trees their time shall cherish; Then the snowy winter’s breath, Gripping tight through browning splendours, Brings the quietude of death.

• James Russell Lowell