The 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.
O suns and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather
Helen Hunt Jackson
Listen! the wind is rising,
and the air is wild with leaves,
We have had our summer evenings,
now for October eves.
Fresh October brings the pheasant
Then to gather nuts is pleasant.
Pleasures lie thickest where no pleasures seem:
There's not a leaf that falls upon the ground
But holds some joy of silence or of sound,
Some spirits begotten of a summer dream.
O wild West Wind thou breath of Autumn's being
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
I saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like Silence, listening
It was a morning of ground mist, yellow sunshine, and high rifts of blue,
The leaves were still thick on the trees, but dew-spangled gossamer threads
hung on the bushes and the shrill little cries of unrest
of the swallows skimming the green open park spaces
of the park told of autumn and change.
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