A dried leaf crumbles at a touch, But I have seen many Autumns With herons blowing like smoke Across the sky.

Everyone of them words rang true and glowed like burning coal, pouring off every page like it was written in my soul from me to you.

Listen! The wind is rising, And the air is wild with leaves, We have had our summer evenings, Now for October eves!

White-fingered star, a little, childish thing, The busy needle of her light to bring, And stitch, and stitch, upon the dead day’s shroud.

There is a harmony In autumn, and a lustre in its sky, Which through the summer is not heard or seen, As if it could not be, as if it had not been!

By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer’s best of weather And autumn’s best of cheer.

So here’s an end of roaming On eves when autumn nighs: The ear too fondly listens For summer’s parting sighs, And then the heart replies.

The high horses of the sea broke their white riders On the walls that held and counted the hours The wind lasted.

I hear you call, pine tree, I hear you upon the hill, by the silent pond Where the lotus flowers bloom, I hear you call, pine tree.

The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.

Across the lonely beach we flit, One little sandpiper and I, And fast I gather, bit by bit, The scattered drift-wood, bleached and dry.

Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.

I thought of you and how you love this beauty, And walking up the long beach all alone I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder As you and I once heard their monotone.

A boat, beneath a sunny sky Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July – Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear, Pleased a simple tale to hear.

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles.

Great is the sun, and wide he goes Through empty heaven with repose; And in the blue and glowing days More thick than rain he showers his rays.

That beautiful season the Summer! Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.

But just buckle in with a bit of a grin, Just take off your coat and go to it; Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing That ‘cannot be done,’ and you’ll do it.

Wisteria woke me this morning, And there was all June in the garden; I felt them, early, warning Lest I miss any part of the day.

What is so sweet and dear As a prosperous morn in May, The confident prime of the day, And the dauntless youth of the year.