I love you Because no two snowflakes are alike And it is possible If you stand tippy-toe To walk between the raindrops.
—Nikki GiovanniThe night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me And I cannot, cannot go.
—Emily BrontëChattin’ an’ braggin’ a bit with the men, Buildin’ the old family circle again; Livin’ the wholesome an’ old-fashioned cheer, Just for awhile at the end of the year.
—Edgar Albert GuestSeason of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run.
—John KeatsSomeday this will be called an artifact, The spine of an old ship, hardened by the sea, Built to remain for centuries intact And beautiful because it had to be.
—Marion LineaweaverHow did it get so late so soon? Its night before its afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness how the time has flewn.
—Dr. SeussAnd does it not seem hard to you, When all the sky is clear and blue, And I should like so much to play, To have to go to bed by day?
—Robert Louis StevensonI spot the hills With yellow balls in autumn. I light the prairie cornfields Orange and tawny gold clusters And I am called pumpkins.
—Carl SandburgA dried leaf crumbles at a touch, But I have seen many Autumns With herons blowing like smoke Across the sky.
—Amy LowellThe sweet calm sunshine of October, now Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mold The purple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough Drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.
—William Cullen BryantThe day is yet one more yellow leaf and without turning I kiss the light by an old well on the last of the month gathering wild rose hips in the sun.
—W.S. MerwinI stand as the black water Of each wave’s backwash Hugs my hip boots Making little stars of light As the water “fires” around my legs.
—Conrad NeumanFor man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together. For nature, it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad.
—Edwin Way TealeAs imperceptibly as grief The summer lapsed away, — Too imperceptible, at last, To seem like perfidy.
—Emily DickinsonBlue poured into summer blue, A hawk broke from his cloudless tower, The roof of the silo blazed, and I knew That part of my life was over.
—Stanley KunitzAmong the first we learn is good-bye, Your tiny wrist between Dad’s forefinger And thumb forced to wave bye-bye to Mom, Whose hand sails brightly behind a windshield.
—Julia Spicher KasdorfThe holidays were fruitful, but must end; One August evening had a cooler breath; Into each mind intruding duties crept; Under the cinders burned the fires of home.
—Ralph Waldo EmersonThe year’s best blueberry scone Gorgeous needlework being shown Iron skillets being thrown We recall what has always made the Vineyard unique.
—Jerry MuskinNear the shore’s arm of dune that holds the pond, A kayak glides, Someone seeking peace And looking up to find it in the sky.
—Margaret Howe FreydbergAugust rushes by like desert rainfall, A flood of frenzied upheaval, Expected, But still catching me unprepared. Like a matchflame Bursting on the scene.
—Elizabeth Maua Taylor