子东的寒砚斋

Autumn Quotes and Poems

“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower. ”
~ Albert Camus

“The foliage has been losing its freshness through the month of August, and here and there a yellow leaf shows itself like the first gray hair amidst the locks of a beauty who has seen one season too many.”
~ Oliver Wendell Holmes

“Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.”
~ Stanley Horowitz

“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn.”
~ John Muir

“For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together.
For nature, it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad.”
~ Edwin Way Teale

“A few days ago I walked along the edge of the lake and was treated
to the crunch and rustle of leaves with each step I made. The
acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter
how hushed, are as crisp as autumn air.”
~ Eric Sloane

“In the garden, Autumn is, indeed the crowning glory of the year,
bringing us the fruition of months of thought and care and toil.
And at no season, safe perhaps in Daffodil time, do we get such
superb colour effects as from August to November.”
~ Rose G. Kingsley, The Autumn Garden, 1905

“Then summer fades and passes and October comes. We’ll smell smoke then,
and feel an unexpected sharpness, a thrill of nervousness, swift elation, a
sense of sadness and departure.”
~Thomas Wolfe

“Autumn is a season followed immediately by looking forward to Spring.”
~ Unknown

Gathering Leaves

Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.
I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.
But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.
I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?
Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.
Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who’s to say where
The harvest shall stop?

by Robert Frost