Best Autumn Poems

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
...

Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own:
I wavered through the streets, among
Objects:
Nothing mattered or had a name:
...

Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain,
With banners, by great gales incessant fanned,
Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand,
And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain!
...

War broke: and now the Winter of the world
With perishing great darkness closes in.
The foul tornado, centred at Berlin,
Is over all the width of Europe whirled,
...

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the heart feels a languid grief
Laid on it for a covering,
And how sleep seems a goodly thing
...

I remember you as you were in the last autumn.
You were the grey beret and the still heart.
In your eyes the flames of the twilight fought on.
And the leaves fell in the water of your soul.
...

And yet one arrives somehow,
finds himself loosening the hooks of
her dress
in a strange bedroom--
...

Autumn moonlight--
a worm digs silently
into the chestnut.
...

It is autumn; not without
But within me is the cold.
Youth and spring are all about;
It is I that have grown old.
...

I dreamt of autumn in the window's twilight,
And you, a tipsy jesters' throng amidst. '
And like a falcon, having stooped to slaughter,
...

If I could write words
Like leaves on an autumn forest floor,
What a bonfire my letters would make.
...

Cold wind of autumn, blowing loud
At dawn, a fortnight overdue,
Jostling the doors, and tearing through
My bedroom to rejoin the cloud,
...

Then an old man, a keeper of an inn, said, "Speak to us of Eating and Drinking."

And he said:
...

There is never a sight more beautiful
Or so amazing than that of a tree,
In summer with branches and leaves so full
With gently swaying boughs for all to see.
...

A baby's cradle with no baby in it,
A baby's grave where autumn leaves drop sere;
The sweet soul gathered home to Paradise,
...

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
...

O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
   Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
   Thy mists that roll and rise!
Thy woods this autumn day, that ache and sag
...

I’ve watched the Seasons passing slow, so slow,
In the fields between La Bassée and Bethune;
Primroses and the first warm day of Spring,
Red poppy floods of June,
...

I shall die in Paris, in a rainstorm,
On a day I already remember.
I shall die in Paris- it does not bother me-
Doubtless on a Thursday, like today, in autumn.
...

First day of spring--
I keep thinking about
the end of autumn.
...

It ought to be lovely to be old
to be full of the peace that comes of experience
and wrinkled ripe fulfilment.
...

THE trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
...

.
the girl waited beneath the golden tree
the golden tree shaped like a vase
a vase of golden leaves
...

Once Upon an autumn day,
Colorful leaves began to fade
In the midst of a chilly, frosty air
As multitude of trees grew steadily bare.
...

If one could bridge the distance with a word,
A journey would become a pilgrimage.
Elegant letters slant across the page.
My leaf has found a home upon your coat.
...

Spring:
A hill without a name
Veiled in morning mist.
...

All lovely things will have an ending,
All lovely things will fade and die,
And youth, that's now so bravely spending,
Will beg a penny by and by.
...

Chilling autumn rains
curtain Mount Fuji, then make it
more beautiful to see
...

At evening the autumn woodlands ring
With deadly weapons. Over the golden plains
And lakes of blue, the sun
More darkly rolls. The night surrounds
...

In the other gardens
And all up the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail!
...

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stainèd
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,
...

The seasons send their ruin as they go,
For in the spring the narciss shows its head
Nor withers till the rose has flamed to red,
And in the autumn purple violets blow,
...

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
...

Old leaves have no defence against the wind.
A gray hawk is October's inner cry.
The bells of Salem church play elegies.
Distance becomes a single snowflake's fall.
...

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread;
...

a strange flower
for birds and butterflies
the autumn sky
...

From the grief ocean, I steal, a drop of happiness,
For every autumn, I get a lovely beautiful spring,
For human youth; the festive, to dance and sing,
We nature, within nature; keepeth blissful fitness,
...

Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth,
This autumn morning! How he sets his bones
To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet
For the ripple to run over in its mirth;
...

Look at the different coloured leaves,
Swaying gently with the breeze,
Lovely reds, browns and greens,
All waiting to fall from the trees.
...

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,
...

By the North Gate, the wind blows full of sand,
Lonely from the beginning of time until now!
Trees fall, the grass goes yellow with autumn.
I climb the towers and towers
...

In the beginning of time, there rose from the churning of God's
dream two women. One is the dancer at the court of paradise, the
desired of men, she who laughs and plucks the minds of the wise
from their cold meditations and of fools from their emptiness; and
...

Birds sing "I love you, love" the whole day through,
And not another song can they sing right;
But, singing done with, loving's done with quite,
The autumn sunders every twittering two.
...

...

Blowing stones
along the road on Mount Asama,
the autumn wind.
...

Never let me lose the marvel
of your statue-like eyes, or the accent
the solitary rose of your breath
places on my cheek at night.
...

Boll-weevil's coming, and the winter's cold,
Made cotton-stalks look rusty, seasons old,
And cotton, scarce as any southern snow,
Was vanishing; the branch, so pinched and slow,
...

If I could have your arms tonight-
But half the world and the broken sea
Lie between you and me.
...

I spot the hills
With yellow balls in autumn.
I light the prairie cornfields
Orange and tawny gold clusters
...

She is near to my heart as the meadow-flower to the earth; she is
sweet to me as sleep is to tired limbs. My love for her is my life
flowing in its fullness, like a river in autumn flood, running with
serene abandonment. My songs are one with my love, like the murmur
...

When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,
And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind
Like aged warriors westward, tragic, thinned
Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes,
...

When ocean-clouds over inland hills
Sweep storming in late autumn brown,
And horror the sodden valley fills,
And the spire falls crashing in the town,
...

The very air is amber to the touch.
Gnarled fingers trace the signature of warmth.
The slant of sun becomes significant.
Ribbons of west fall grosgrain on tin roofs.
...

Live thy Life,
Young and old,
Like yon oak,
Bright in spring,
...

Night fell over North Lebanon and snow was covering the villages surrounded by the Kadeesha Valley, giving the fields and prairies the appearance of a great sheet of parchment upon which the furious Nature was recording her many deeds. Men came home from the streets while silence engulfed the night.

In a lone house near those villages lived a woman who sat by her fireside spinning wool, and at her side was her only child, staring now at the fire and then at his mother.
...

You ask how I spend my time--
I nestle against a treetrunk
and listen to autumn winds
in the pines all night and day.
...

Lo! I am come to autumn,
When all the leaves are gold;
Grey hairs and golden leaves cry out
The year and I are old.
...

LONG ago, on a bright spring day,
I passed a little child at play;
And as I passed, in childish glee
She called to me, “Come and play with me!”
...

748

Autumn—overlooked my Knitting—
Dyes—said He—have I—
...

My youth was nothing but a black storm
Crossed now and then by brilliant suns.
The thunder and the rain so ravage the shores
Nothing's left of the fruit my garden held once.
...

Wandering in the the valley of love
Listening to the rustling of autumn leaves
Absorbing the occult dewdrops of solitude
Singing along with the birds
...

Even in a person
most times indifferent
to things around him
they waken feelings
...

___ Living the pain of life ___

Life is a big store of
fruitless love, compassion,
...

Like rainbows dissolving or love's end
We mourn the parting of friends

As the Sun travels East to West
...

Sun of autumn, thin and shy
And fruit drops off the trees,
Blue silence fills the peace
Of a tardy afternoon’s sky.
...

Comes autumn, follows fall,
Brown leaves begin to fall,
And when it snows in winter,
Trees look like skeletons that can't stir.
...

AUTUMN is over the long leaves that love us,
And over the mice in the barley sheaves;
Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us,
And yellow the wet wild-strawberry leaves.
...

...

As toilsome I wander'd Virginia's woods,
To the music of rustling leaves kick'd by my feet, (for 'twas autumn,)
I mark'd at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier;
Mortally wounded he and buried on the retreat, (easily all I could understand,)
...

On Marble Stairs
still grows the white dew
That has all night
soaked her silk slippers,
...

There is a blue fragrance, essence of dusk.
The smoke of last things lingers on old clothes.
Sun has become as rare as goldenrod.
I call for August, but no answer comes.
...

WHEN I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv'd
with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night
for me that follow'd;
...

Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
...

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness everywhere!
...

Round Autumn's mouldering urn
Loud mourns the chill and cheerless gale,
When nightfall shades the quiet vale
And stars in beauty burn.
...

When I behold how black, immortal ink
Drips from my deathless pen - ah, well-away!
Why should we stop at all for what I think?
There is enough in what I chance to say.
...

There should be no despair for you
While nightly stars are burning,
While evening pours its silent dew
And sunshine gilds the morning.
...

They never saw my lover's face,
They only know our love was brief,
Wearing awhile a windy grace
And passing like an autumn leaf.
...

Birds are in conversation with the dark.
They sing their elegies from power lines.
You clasp my hand to hold the music still.
Such stanzas, Friend, must not be winter lost.
...

In the spring I asked the daisies
If his words were true,
And the clever, clear-eyed daisies
Always knew.
...

Under the crescent moon's faint glow
The washerman's bat resounds afar,
And the autumn breeze sighs tenderly.
But my heart has gone to the Tartar war,
...

It trembled so, the wind set it sailing
it trembled so, how could it not yield to the wind
far beyond
the sea
...

I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn
uselessly roaming in the sky, O my sun ever-glorious!
Thy touch has not yet melted my vapor,
making me one with thy light,
...

A slip of the moon hangs over the capital;
Ten thousand washing-mallets are pounding;
And the autumn wind is blowing my heart
...

Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around he here;
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
...

Grinning pumpkins, falling leaves,
Dancing scarecrows, twirling breeze,
Color, color everywhere,
Autumn dreams are in the air! Autumn is a woman growing old,
...

.
It was three morning-crisp days ago
three mystic autumn days ago
three frost-bitten days ago
...

Pale amber sunlight falls across
The reddening October trees,
That hardly sway before a breeze
As soft as summer: summer's loss
...

HERE where the roses blossom, where vines round the laurels are twining,
Where the turtle-dove calls, where the blithe cricket is heard,
Say, whose grave can this be, with life by all the Immortals
...

It is, and is not, I am sane enough,
Since you have come this place has hovered round me,
This fabrication built of autumn roses,
Then there's a goldish colour, different.
...

On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd
Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
...

Your sunny cheeks
are as red
as the autumn apple
and as shiny
...

Autumn leaves come tumbling down
Same as my tears
Falling to the ground
Released unfettered
...

Come, let us tell the weeds in ditches
How we are poor, who once had riches,
And lie out in the sparse and sodden
Pastures that the cows have trodden,
...

The clash of colors that surrounds
stuns the sense, breaks the bounds.
My mind instructs my eyes' belief
challenged now by every leaf.
...

A touch of cold in the Autumn night --

I walked abroad,
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
...

The pine-trees bend to listen to the autumn wind as it mutters
Something which sets the black poplars ashake with hysterical laughter;
While slowly the house of day is closing its eastern shutters.
...

I was welcomed here—clear gold
of late summer, of opening autumn,
the dawn eagle sunning himself on the highest tree,
the mountain revealing herself unclouded, her snow
...

scarlet in wine beckons blue within
embracing pearls of sweetened cadence
green soaked in rain bestirs of grin without
on bay of eternity be the mine mingling in me
...

Of his toes
Winter stands on the tips
Grazing the treetops
He reads a letter and
...