Page 1 of 2 12 LastLast
Results 1 to 15 of 19

Thread: Autumn - Fall poems

  1. #1
    Moderator Logos's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2004
    Posts
    6,486
    Blog Entries
    19

    Autumn - Fall poems

    It's that time of year again for most of us, autumn or fall as some people call it. I compiled this list for something else I was working on, thought I would post it here. Please post any other fall/autumn related poems you know of

    From the Online Etymology Dictionary:

    autumn c.1374, from O.Fr. autumpne, from L. autumnus, a word probably of Etruscan origin. Harvest was the Eng. name for the season until autumn began to displace it 16c.

    In Britain, the season is popularly August through October; in U.S., September through November.

    fall (v.) O.E. feallan (class VII strong verb; past tense feoll, pp. feallen), from P.Gmc. *fallanan (cf. O.N. falla, O.H.G. fallan), from PIE base *phol- "to fall" (cf. Armenian p'ul "downfall," Lith. puola "to fall," O.Prus. aupallai "finds," lit. "falls upon").

    Noun sense of "autumn" (now only in U.S.) is 1664, short for fall of the leaf (1545). That of "cascade, waterfall" is from 1579. Most of the figurative senses had developed in M.E. Meaning "to be reduced" (as temperature) is from 1658. To fall in love is attested from 1530; to fall asleep is 1393. Fall guy is from 1906. Fallout "radioactive particles" is from 1950. Fallen "morally ruined" is from 1628.

    --

    Ode to Autumn by John Keats


    Season 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-eaves run;
    To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
    And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
    To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
    With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
    And still more, later flowers for the bees,
    Until they think warm days will never cease,
    For Summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells.

    Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
    Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
    Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
    Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
    Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
    Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
    Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
    And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
    Steady thy laden head across a brook;
    Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
    Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

    Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
    Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -
    While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day
    And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
    Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
    Among the river sallows, borne aloft
    Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
    And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
    Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft
    The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
    And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

    --


    Autumn Sunshine by D. H. Lawrence

    From New Poems (1916).

    The sun sets out the autumn crocuses
    And fills them up a pouring measure
    Of death-producing wine, till treasure
    Runs waste down their chalices.

    All, all Persephone's pale cups of mould
    Are on the board, are over-filled;
    The portion to the gods is spilled;
    Now, mortals all, take hold!

    The time is now, the wine-cup full and full
    Of lambent heaven, a pledging-cup;
    Let now all mortal men take up
    The drink, and a long, strong pull.

    Out of the hell-queen's cup, the heaven's pale wine--
    Drink then, invisible heroes, drink.
    Lips to the vessels, never shrink,
    Throats to the heavens incline.

    And take within the wine the god's great oath
    By heaven and earth and hellish stream
    To break this sick and nauseous dream
    We writhe and lust in, both.

    Swear, in the pale wine poured from the cups of the queen
    Of hell, to wake and be free
    From this nightmare we writhe in,
    Break out of this foul has-been.

    --


    Dolor of Autumn by D. H. Lawrence


    The acrid scents of autumn,
    Reminiscent of slinking beasts, make me fear
    Everything, tear-trembling stars of autumn
    And the snore of the night in my ear.

    For suddenly, flush-fallen,
    All my life, in a rush
    Of shedding away, has left me
    Naked, exposed on the bush.

    I, on the bush of the globe,
    Like a newly-naked berry, shrink
    Disclosed: but I also am prowling
    As well in the scents that slink

    Abroad: I in this naked berry
    Of flesh that stands dismayed on the bush;
    And I in the stealthy, brindled odours
    Prowling about the lush

    And acrid night of autumn;
    My soul, along with the rout,
    Rank and treacherous, prowling,
    Disseminated out.

    For the night, with a great breath intaken,
    Has taken my spirit outside
    Me, till I reel with disseminated consciousness,
    Like a man who has died.

    At the same time I stand exposed
    Here on the bush of the globe,
    A newly-naked berry of flesh
    For the stars to probe.

    --


    Autumn Feelings by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe



    FLOURISH greener, as ye clamber,
    Oh ye leaves, to seek my chamber,

    Up the trellis'd vine on high!
    May ye swell, twin-berries tender,
    Juicier far,--and with more splendour

    Ripen, and more speedily!
    O'er ye broods the sun at even
    As he sinks to rest, and heaven

    Softly breathes into your ear
    All its fertilising fullness,
    While the moon's refreshing coolness,

    Magic-laden, hovers near;
    And, alas! ye're watered ever

    By a stream of tears that rill
    From mine eyes--tears ceasing never,

    Tears of love that nought can still!

    (1775).

    --


    From Emily Dickinson's Poem Series I: XXVIII. Autumn


    The morns are meeker than they were,
    The nuts are getting brown;
    The berry's cheek is plumper,
    The rose is out of town.

    The maple wears a gayer scarf,
    The field a scarlet gown.
    Lest I should be old-fashioned,
    I'll put a trinket on.

    --


    Autumn: A Dirge by Percy Bysshe Shelley


    [Published by Mrs. Shelley in Posthumous Poems, 1824.]

    1.
    The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing,
    The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,
    And the Year
    On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,
    Is lying.
    Come, Months, come away,
    From November to May,
    In your saddest array;
    Follow the bier
    Of the dead cold Year,
    And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.

    2.
    The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling,
    The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling
    For the Year;
    The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone
    To his dwelling;
    Come, Months, come away;
    Put on white, black, and gray;
    Let your light sisters play--
    Ye, follow the bier
    Of the dead cold Year,
    And make her grave green with tear on tear.

    --

    The Death Of Autumn by Edna St. Vincent Millay


    When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,
    And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind
    Like aged warriors westward, tragic, thinned
    Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes,
    Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak,
    Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek,--
    Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushes
    My heart. I know that Beauty must ail and die,
    And will be born again,--but ah, to see
    Beauty stiffened, staring up at the sky!
    Oh, Autumn! Autumn!--What is the Spring to me?

    --


    An Autumn Sunset by Edith Wharton



    I

    LEAGUERED in fire
    The wild black promontories of the coast extend
    Their savage silhouettes;
    The sun in universal carnage sets,
    And, halting higher,
    The motionless storm-clouds mass their sullen threats,
    Like an advancing mob in sword-points penned,
    That, balked, yet stands at bay.
    Mid-zenith hangs the fascinated day
    In wind-lustrated hollows crystalline,
    A wan Valkyrie whose wide pinions shine
    Across the ensanguined ruins of the fray,
    And in her hand swings high o'erhead,
    Above the waste of war,
    The silver torch-light of the evening star
    Wherewith to search the faces of the dead.

    II


    Lagooned in gold,
    Seem not those jetty promontories rather
    The outposts of some ancient land forlorn,
    Uncomforted of morn,
    Where old oblivions gather,
    The melancholy unconsoling fold
    Of all things that go utterly to death
    And mix no more, no more
    With life's perpetually awakening breath?
    Shall Time not ferry me to such a shore,
    Over such sailless seas,
    To walk with hope's slain importunities
    In miserable marriage? Nay, shall not
    All things be there forgot,
    Save the sea's golden barrier and the black
    Close-crouching promontories?
    Dead to all shames, forgotten of all glories,
    Shall I not wander there, a shadow's shade,
    A spectre self-destroyed,
    So purged of all remembrance and sucked back
    Into the primal void,
    That should we on that shore phantasmal meet
    I should not know the coming of your feet?

    --


    Autumn by Samuel Johnson


    1

    Alas! with swift and silent pace,
    Impatient Time rolls on the year;
    The seasons change, and Nature's face
    Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe.

    2

    'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay;
    Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow;
    The flowers of Spring are swept away,
    And Summer fruits desert the bough.

    3

    The verdant leaves that play'd on high,
    And wanton'd on the western breeze,
    Now trod in dust neglected lie,
    As Boreas strips the bending trees.

    4

    The fields, that waved with golden grain,
    As russet heaths are wild and bare;
    Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain,
    Nor Health, nor Pleasure wanders there.

    5

    No more, while through the midnight shade,
    Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray,
    Soft pleasing woes my heart invade,
    As Progne* pours the melting lay.

    6

    From this capricious clime she soars,
    Oh! would some god but wings supply!
    To where each morn the Spring restores,
    Companion of her flight, I'd fly.

    7

    Vain wish! me Fate compels to bear
    The downward season's iron reign,
    Compels to breathe polluted air,
    And shiver on a blasted plain.

    8

    What bliss to life can Autumn yield,
    If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail,
    And Ceres flies the naked field,
    And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail?

    9

    Oh! what remains, what lingers yet,
    To cheer me in the darkening hour?
    The grape remains! the friend of wit,
    In love and mirth of mighty power.

    10

    Haste--press the clusters, fill the bowl;
    Apollo! shoot thy parting ray:
    This gives the sunshine of the soul,
    This god of health, and verse, and day.

    11

    Still, still the jocund strain shall flow,
    The pulse with vigorous rapture beat;
    My Stella with new charms shall glow,
    And every bliss in wine shall meet.

    * 'Progne:' the nightingale.

    --


    An Autumn Rain-Scene by Thomas Hardy




    There trudges one to a merry-making
    With a sturdy swing,
    On whom the rain comes down.

    To fetch the saving medicament
    Is another bent,
    On whom the rain comes down.

    One slowly drives his herd to the stall
    Ere ill befall,
    On whom the rain comes down.

    This bears his missives of life and death
    With quickening breath,
    On whom the rain comes down.

    One watches for signals of wreck or war
    From the hill afar,
    On whom the rain comes down.

    No care if he gain a shelter or none,
    Unhired moves one,
    On whom the rain comes down.

    And another knows nought of its chilling fall
    Upon him at all,
    On whom the rain comes down.

    October 1904.

    --


    Ballade of Autumn by Andrew Lang



    We built a castle in the air,
    In summer weather, you and I,
    The wind and sun were in your hair,--
    Gold hair against a sapphire sky:
    When Autumn came, with leaves that fly
    Before the storm, across the plain,
    You fled from me, with scarce a sigh--
    My Love returns no more again!

    The windy lights of Autumn flare:
    I watch the moonlit sails go by;
    I marvel how men toil and fare,
    The weary business that they ply!
    Their voyaging is vanity,
    And fairy gold is all their gain,
    And all the winds of winter cry,
    "My Love returns no more again!"

    Here, in my castle of Despair,
    I sit alone with memory;
    The wind-fed wolf has left his lair,
    To keep the outcast company.
    The brooding owl he hoots hard by,
    The hare shall kindle on thy hearth-stane,
    The Rhymer's soothest prophecy,--*
    My Love returns no more again!


    ENVOY.

    Lady, my home until I die
    Is here, where youth and hope were slain:
    They flit, the ghosts of our July,
    My Love returns no more again!


    *Thomas of Ercildoune.

    --


    The Wild Swans At Coole by W. B. Yeats



    THE trees are in their autumn beauty,
    The woodland paths are dry,
    Under the October twilight the water
    Mirrors a still sky;
    Upon the brimming water among the stones
    Are nine-and-fifty Swans.

    The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
    Since I first made my count;
    I saw, before I had well finished,
    All suddenly mount
    And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
    Upon their clamorous wings.

    I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
    And now my heart is sore.
    All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
    The first time on this shore,
    The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
    Trod with a lighter tread.

    Unwearied still, lover by lover,
    They paddle in the cold
    Companionable streams or climb the air;
    Their hearts have not grown old;
    Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
    Attend upon them still.

    But now they drift on the still water,
    Mysterious, beautiful;
    Among what rushes will they build,
    By what lake's edge or pool
    Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
    To find they have flown away?

    --


    Peggy by Robert Burns

    [The heroine of this song is said to have been "Montgomery's Peggy."]

    Tune--"I had a horse, I had nae mair."


    I.

    Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns
    Bring autumn's pleasant weather;
    The moorcock springs, on whirring wings,
    Amang the blooming heather:
    Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,
    Delights the weary farmer;
    And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night
    To muse upon my charmer.

    II.

    The partridge loves the fruitful fells;
    The plover loves the mountains;
    The woodcock haunts the lonely dells;
    The soaring hern the fountains;
    Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves
    The path of man to shun it;
    The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush,
    The spreading thorn the linnet.

    III.

    Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,
    The savage and the tender;
    Some social join, and leagues combine;
    Some solitary wander:
    Avaunt, away! the cruel sway,
    Tyrannic man's dominion;
    The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry,
    The flutt'ring, gory pinion.

    IV.

    But Peggy, dear, the ev'ning's clear,
    Thick flies the skimming swallow;
    The sky is blue, the fields in view,
    All fading-green and yellow:
    Come, let us stray our gladsome way,
    And view the charms of nature;
    The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,
    And every happy creature.

    V.

    We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,
    Till the silent moon shine clearly;
    I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,
    Swear how I love thee dearly:
    Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs,
    Not autumn to the farmer,
    So dear can be as thou to me,
    My fair, my lovely charmer!


    --



    PLEASE RESPECT COPYRIGHT LAWS: READ THIS BEFORE POSTING:

    http://www.online-literature.com/for...ad.php?t=17515

    ..

    ..
    Forum » Rules » FAQ » Tags » Blogs » Groups » Quizzes » e-Texts »
    ◕‿◕ currently reading Empty Mansions: The Mysterious Life of Huguette Clark, Bill Dedman (2013)

    "the dogs bark but the caravan moves on" --Arab proverb
    .


  2. #2
    Vincit Qui Se Vincit Virgil's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2005
    Location
    New York
    Posts
    20,355
    Blog Entries
    248
    Thanks Logos. The Keats and Yeats' poems are among the very best in the English language. I had not seen those Lawrence poems before. Not bad. Autumn weather finally started here. Our first really chilly day.
    LET THERE BE LIGHT

    "Love follows knowledge." – St. Catherine of Siena

    My literature blog: http://ashesfromburntroses.blogspot.com/

  3. #3
    Inexplicably Undiscovered
    Join Date
    Jun 2007
    Location
    next door to the lady in the vinegar bottle
    Posts
    5,001
    Blog Entries
    72
    The lyrics to the song, "Autumn in New York," written by Vernon Duke are quite beautiful I shan't post them here, lest we get ASCAP on our backs!

  4. #4
    Our wee Olympic swimmer Janine's Avatar
    Join Date
    Oct 2006
    Location
    Southern New Jersey, near Philadelphia
    Posts
    9,300
    Blog Entries
    3
    Wow, that is a lot of poems about autumn. I only began to read a few so far, but they were great. I can't wait to read them all.
    Logos, thanks so much for posting them!
    "It's so mysterious, the land of tears."

    Chapter 7, The Little Prince ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

  5. #5
    Moderator Logos's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2004
    Posts
    6,486
    Blog Entries
    19
    Quote Originally Posted by AuntShecky View Post
    ....lest we get ASCAP on our backs!
    Thank you I will look the song up.

    It is finally fall weather here too, my second favorite time of year (after spring). I found another...

    My November Guest by Robert Frost:

    MY Sorrow, when she's here with me,
    Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
    Are beautiful as days can be;
    She loves the bare, the withered tree;
    She walks the sodden pasture lane.
    Her pleasure will not let me stay.
    She talks and I am fain to list:
    She's glad the birds are gone away,
    She's glad her simple worsted gray
    Is silver now with clinging mist.
    The desolate, deserted trees,
    The faded earth, the heavy sky,
    The beauties she so truly sees,
    She thinks I have no eye for these,
    And vexes me for reason why.
    Not yesterday I learned to know
    The love of bare November days
    Before the coming of the snow,
    But it were vain to tell her so,
    And they are better for her praise.

    .
    Forum » Rules » FAQ » Tags » Blogs » Groups » Quizzes » e-Texts »
    ◕‿◕ currently reading Empty Mansions: The Mysterious Life of Huguette Clark, Bill Dedman (2013)

    "the dogs bark but the caravan moves on" --Arab proverb
    .


  6. #6
    Registered User quasimodo1's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2007
    Location
    Bensalem, PA 19020
    Posts
    3,267

    The Auroras of Autumn

    VI

    It is a theatre floating through the clouds,
    Itself a cloud, although of misted rock
    And mountains running like water, wave on wave,

    Through waves of light. It is of cloud transformed
    To cloud transformed again, idly, the way
    A season changes color to no end,

    Except the lavishing of itself in change,
    As light changes yellow into gold and gold
    To its opal elements and fire’s delight,

    ....

    {from part six of Wallace Stevens' title work from the collection of the same name..."The Auroras of Autumn"...1950} To Logos: You really put together a beautifull collection of this season's poems.

  7. #7
    Metamorphosing Pensive's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2005
    Location
    Neverland
    Posts
    10,586
    Thanks a lot for posting these poems. My favourites are:

    From Emily Dickinson's Poem Series I: XXVIII. Autumn


    The morns are meeker than they were,
    The nuts are getting brown;
    The berry's cheek is plumper,
    The rose is out of town.

    The maple wears a gayer scarf,
    The field a scarlet gown.
    Lest I should be old-fashioned,
    I'll put a trinket on.
    Ode to Autumn by John Keats


    Season 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-eaves run;
    To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
    And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
    To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
    With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
    And still more, later flowers for the bees,
    Until they think warm days will never cease,
    For Summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells.

    Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
    Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
    Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
    Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
    Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
    Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
    Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
    And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
    Steady thy laden head across a brook;
    Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
    Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

    Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
    Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -
    While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day
    And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
    Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
    Among the river sallows, borne aloft
    Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
    And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
    Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft
    The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
    And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
    I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew.

  8. #8
    Internal nebulae TheFifthElement's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2007
    Posts
    3,067
    Blog Entries
    176
    I love D H Lawrence!
    Want to know what I think about books? Check out https://biisbooks.wordpress.com/

  9. #9
    Vincit Qui Se Vincit Virgil's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2005
    Location
    New York
    Posts
    20,355
    Blog Entries
    248
    Quote Originally Posted by TheFifthElement View Post
    I love D H Lawrence!
    Do you Fifth? Do you know we have a Lawrence short story thread ongoing where we discuss a short story for about a month or so or until we're tired of it, and then move on to the next.
    LET THERE BE LIGHT

    "Love follows knowledge." – St. Catherine of Siena

    My literature blog: http://ashesfromburntroses.blogspot.com/

  10. #10
    Internal nebulae TheFifthElement's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2007
    Posts
    3,067
    Blog Entries
    176
    Quote Originally Posted by Virgil View Post
    Do you Fifth? Do you know we have a Lawrence short story thread ongoing where we discuss a short story for about a month or so or until we're tired of it, and then move on to the next.
    Excellent! I will have to check it out. I just read 'The Virgin and the Gypsy' and was most impressed.
    Want to know what I think about books? Check out https://biisbooks.wordpress.com/

  11. #11
    U2aholic
    Join Date
    Jun 2004
    Location
    U2opia
    Posts
    844
    There's a U2 album entitled October, and that's also the title of one of their songs. It's very short and the lyrics aren't sophisticated but it's quite atmospheric. It goes like this:

    October
    And the trees are stripped bare
    Of all they wear
    What do I care

    October
    And kingdoms rise
    And kingdoms fall
    But you go on
    And on
    And on
    In dreams begin responsibilities.

  12. #12
    Registered User Dark Star's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2007
    Location
    San Antonio, TX
    Posts
    334
    I loved the Frost poem and as usual Goethe strikes a chord with me. Good stuff.

  13. #13
    Registered User tinustijger's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2007
    Location
    Groningen, Netherlands
    Posts
    66
    Thanks for the U2 lyrics!

    These lyrics, by Amy Ray (Indigo Girls), are kinda fall-related too (yes, she's talking about the season, read it in an interview), but they're not very concrete, more about a feeling. I don't know if this fits right here, but I like the song, so..


    Touch me fall

    I'm waking from a dream
    The neighborhood is green
    All the sounds I've missed all the years
    Come down to wedding death and fear
    And all I've heard has been in vain
    Like water on a stain

    Touch me I'm so beautiful
    Rub your hands across my head
    Just like this come with me
    It's not worth it if you don't
    Are you hiding
    I am hiding

    Cypress moon bald in june
    Like the granite in a stream
    Swamp ophelia I'm torn down
    Let your waters let me drown

    Touch me I'm so beautiful
    Rub your hands across my head
    Just like this come with me
    It's not worth it if you don't
    Are you crying
    I am crying

    Jump jump jump so high
    Watch me let you down
    If I stumble I will stumble
    If I fall I will fall
    I'm trying to hold it like rain in a river
    Everything is getting bigger better
    This won't last forever
    Touch me fall
    Each man's death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind. - John Donne

  14. #14
    Registered User
    Join Date
    Oct 2007
    Posts
    44
    Milton describes the fallen angels laying beside the infernal lake:

    Thick as Autumnal Leaves that strow the Brooks
    In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades
    High overarch't imbowr.
    ..Johnny Keats sure knew who's the daddy..

  15. #15
    Registered User quasimodo1's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2007
    Location
    Bensalem, PA 19020
    Posts
    3,267

    Wu-ti (157-87 B.C.)

    AUTUMN WIND

    Translated by Arthur Waley (1889-1966)

    Autumn wind rises: white clouds fly.
    Grass and trees wither: geese go south.
    Orchids all in bloom: chrysanthemums smell sweet.
    I think of my lovely lady: I never can forget.
    Floating-pagoda boat crosses Fen River.
    Across the mid-stream white waves rise;
    Flute and drum keep time to sound of rowers' song;
    Amidst revel and feasting, sad thoughts come;
    Youth's years how few! Age how sure!

    Wu-ti (157-87 B. C.) was the 6th emperor of the Han dynasty in China. He becamcame emporer when he was only sixteen. In this poem he re- grets that he must go on an official journey and leave his mistress behind. He is seated in his state barge, surrounded by his ministers.

    Arthur Waley is a translator of classic Japanese and Chinese literature into English. This poem can be found in his book called Translations from the Chinese, first published in 1919.

Page 1 of 2 12 LastLast

Similar Threads

  1. Autumn Days
    By Biggus in forum Personal Poetry
    Replies: 1
    Last Post: 10-02-2007, 11:38 AM
  2. The Fall
    By Sweets America in forum Personal Poetry
    Replies: 9
    Last Post: 08-26-2007, 04:58 PM
  3. Revelling in Poems
    By blazeofglory in forum Poems, Poets, and Poetry
    Replies: 2
    Last Post: 07-24-2007, 04:48 AM
  4. Old Poetry Post poems imported into blogs
    By Admin in forum The Literature Network
    Replies: 0
    Last Post: 07-09-2007, 11:33 AM
  5. As I Fall to A Broken Life...
    By HjusOticePlostE in forum Personal Poetry
    Replies: 3
    Last Post: 06-22-2004, 01:35 PM

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •