Autumn Song
O Autumn! thou art richly clad, With leaves of gold and crimson hue; In every rustle, I am glad, For every moment brings anew.
The air is crisp, a cooling breath, As sunbeams dance on fields of grain; Where harvest sings of life and death, In nature’s cycle, sweet refrain.
I cherish thee, beloved time, For in this season’s waning light, I feel the pulse, the perfect rhyme, Of every day, both dark and bright.
- Thomas Woolner