AUTUMN
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O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!—BLAKE, To Autumn
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Autumn wins you best by this, its mute
Appeal to sympathy for its decay.—BROWNING, Paracelsus
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The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.—BRYANT, The Death of the Flowers
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All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,
Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn.—BURNS, The Brigs of Ayr
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There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood—
Touch of manner, hint of mood; And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.—BLISS CARMEN, A Vagabond Song
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These are the days when skies put on
The old, old sophistries of June,—
A blue and gold mistake.—EMILY DICKINSON, Indian Summer
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No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnal face.—JOHN DONNE, Elegie 9, The Autumnal
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I saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like Silence, listening
To silence, for no lonely bird would sing
Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn.—THOMAS HOOD, Ode to Autumn
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How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky
The gorgeous flame of Summer which is fled!—THOMAS HOOD, Written in a Volume of Shakespeare
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Fruit-bearing autumn.—HORACE, Odes
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Season of mists and mellow f ruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss's cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core.—KEATS, To Autumn
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Third act of the eternal play!
In poster-like emblazonries
"Autumn once more begins today"—RICHARD LE GALLIENNE, The Eternal Play
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Behold congenial Autumn comes,
The Sabbath of the year!—JOHN LOGAN, Ode Written on a Visit to the Country in Autumn
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It was Autumn, and incessant
Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves,
And, like living coals, the apples
Burned among the withering leaves.—LONGFELLOW, Pegasus in Pound
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The teeming autumn, big with rich increase.—SHAKESPEARE, Sonnets
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There is a harmony
In Autumn, and a lustre in its sky,
Which thro' the Summer is not heard or seen,—
As if it could not be, as if it had not been!—SHELLEY,Hymn to Intellectual Beauty
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Autumnal frosts enchant the pool,
And make the cart-ruts beautiful.—STEVENSON, The House Beautiful
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Cold autumn, wan with wrath of wind and rain.—SWINBURNE, Autumn and Winter
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While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on.—JAMES THOMSON, The Seasons
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The tints of autumn—a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, Frost.—WHITTIER, Patucket Falls
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