From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
......
And now another autumn morning finds me
With chalk dust on my sleeve and in my breath,
Preoccupied with vague, habitual speculation
On the huge inevitability of death.
Not wholly wretched, yet knowing absolutely
That I shall never reacquaint myself with joy,
I sniff the smell of ink and chalk and my mortality
And think of when I rolled, a gormless boy,
......
There was three kings unto the east,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
They took a plough and plough'd him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
......
I am a kind word uttered and repeated
By the voice of Nature;
I am a star fallen from the
Blue tent upon the green carpet.
I am the daughter of the elements
With whom Winter conceived;
To whom Spring gave birth; I was
Reared in the lap of Summer and I
Slept in the bed of Autumn.
......
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
......
The flickering, dreamy firelight, does a sultry dance,
Upon the walls of cozy evening, at autumn's arrival.
The fading sun left its memory, the crackling flames;
And bluebird sings sunshine in lush, scented tropics.
The shadows are in rhythm, with the whirling snow,
On the edge of chill November, flying by my window.
In the joy of swift, vivid seasons, blooms are coming,
For when nature's not singing, it's sweetly humming.
In the heart of colorful autumn, skies were colored, too,
for flaming time was getting older, out in the hilly country.
Springtime's budding charm, lends a certain beauty to old age.
Autumn
beautiful, nostalgic
chilling, harvesting, coloring
halloween, pumpkins, flowers, green
chirping, buzzing changing
lusty, fragrant
Spring
Fiery, sunset days of crackling autumn, such colors in trees-
birds of every hue, not to mention vibrantly, cascading leaves!
The bittersweet season's lingering, like moonlight on water.
hot days unlikely
as colored leaves fall pretty
indian summer
though glimpsing the fall
late summer's still at the gate
love songs in the trees
beautiful encore
a rich hued, bloom revival
......