Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Autumn poetry

The following is a Robert Frost poem:

NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY by Robert Frost (1923)
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower,
But only so an hour,
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

There are many other "Autumn" poems. Seems that many poets have been moved to comment on this season. If you've a mind to read more along this line - here's a few:
"Sonnet 73" by William Shakespeare; "To Autumn" by William Blake; "To Autumn" by John Keats; "The Autumn" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning; "Autumn Movement" Carl Sandberg.
Autumn is a fascinating, sometimes fickle season. Sometimes its warmth and beauty lasts (in Canada we call it Indian Summer - why I'm not sure) and lulls us into thinking that this will never end, and then - suddenly we wake up one morning to find heavy frost, freezing winds bending the bare trees and lashing our faces. Aaah. Such is the face of Autumn. No wonder poets find so much to say about it!

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