Autumn Poetry and Painting

Firstly must say thank you to everyone for comments about village names yesterday and apologies for not replying and also for not commenting on any blogs. The day just went somewhere in a flash!

Had a blank for ideas for todays post so I cheated and looked back at some of the autumn poetry that's been on the blog...................

Autumn Leaves
Artist	John Everett Millais
Year	1856

                           

                                                                     Autumn Birds

The wild duck startles like a sudden thought,

And heron slow as if it might be caught.

the flopping crows on weary wings go by

And grey beard jackdaws noising as they fly.

The crowds of starnels whizz and hurry by,

And darken like a cloud the evening sky.

The larks like thunder rise and suthy round,

Then drop and nestle in the stubble ground.

The wild swan hurries high and noises loud

With white necks peering to the evening cloud

The weary rooks to distant woods are gone 

With length of tail the magpie winnows on

To neighbouring tree and leaves the distant crow

While small birds nestle in the hedge below

John Clare (1793-1864)

The Golden Rod is yellow

The Corn is turning brown

The trees in apple orchards

With fruit are bending down

The gentian's bluest fringes

Are curling in the sun

In dusty pods the milkweed

It's hidden silk has spun

The sedges flaunt their harvest

In every meadow nook

And asters by the brook-side

Make asters in the brook

From dewy lanes at morning

The grapes sweet odours rise

At noon the roads all flutter 

With yellow butterflies

By all these lovely tokens

September days are here

With summer's best of weather

And autumns best of cheer

But none of all this beauty

Which floods the earth and air

Is unto me the secret

Which makes September fair.

T'is a thing which I remember

To name it thrills me yet

One day of one September

I never can forget.

Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885)

The verse of a poem by Alex Smith ,that's in the Diary of an Edwardian Country Lady book, possibly a Victorian Scottish poet.

Best I love September's yellow,

Morns of dew-strung gossamer,

Thoughtful days without a stir,

Rooky clamours, brazen leaves,

Stubble dotted o'er with sheaves-

More than Spring's bright uncontrol

Suit the Autumn of my soul

 SEPTEMBER

Now everyday the bracken browner grows,

Even the purple stars

Of clematis,that shone about the bars,

Grow browner; and the little autumn rose

Dons, for her rosy gown,

Sad weeds of brown.

 

Now falls the eve; and ere the morning sun,

Many a flower her sweet life will have lost,

Slain by the bitter frost,

Who slays the butterflies also, one by one,

The tiny beasts

That go about their business and their feasts.

                         Mary Coleridge ( 1861-1907)

 

SEPTEMBER

Golden in the garden,
Golden in the glen,
Golden, golden, golden
September's here again!
Golden in the tree tops,
Golden in the sky—
Golden, golden, golden
September's going by!

                                                         

                                                                   Annette Wynne (writing between 1919 and 1922)

Autumn Leaves by Paul Kenton