Quotes About Autumn

It was one of those golden autumn afternoons and there were blackberries and splashes of old man's beard in the hedges, and the hawthorn berries were ripening scarlet for the birds when the cold winter came along. There were tall trees here and there on either side, oak and sycamore and ash and occasionally a sweet chestnut.

The mourning of late summer as it reaches its autumnal tipping point; the pining for faded youth or lost love; the elegy for the fallen in war; otherworldly dimensions glimpsed but not touched; and the yearning for a distant home: British music is uniquely attuned to these moments and sentiments, for it is finally this sense of loss, of achievement slipping away like sand in a glass, that is at the heart of the British experience over the course of the twentieth century.

How well I know what I mean to do When the long dark Autumn evenings come, And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue? With the music of all thy voices, dumb In life's November too! I shall be found by the fire, suppose, O'er a great wise book as beseemeth age, While the shutters flap as the cross-wind blows, And I turn the page, and I turn the page, Not verse now, only prose!

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.

My sorrow, when she's here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be.

Southern California spring-time, when things bloomed, occurred from November through February, corresponding to the rainy season. Summer's equivalent would be March through May; and the dry brown autumn was June through October. Leaving no good equivalent for winter proper.

Fall has arrived and has already begun to put everything into a deep sleep; flies and other insects have suffered their first setback, and up in the trees and down on the ground you can hear the sounds of struggling life, puttering , ceaselessly rustling, laboring not to perish.

A child walked by, rolling a metal hoop that made a sound of autumn.

My love turns me like a salt sea, it seems, Into sweet drops of autumn's first rain. I'm brought to you slowly as I fall. Take me in. For us there's no angel who will come to redeem. For we are together. Each of us alone.

But you can't plead with autumn. No. The midnight wind stalked through the woods, hooted to frighten you, swept everything away for the approaching winter, whirled the leaves. ("The North")

They do not need the sun. Who needs the sun when the eyes glow? Darkness. A woolen fog has wrapped the earth, has dropped a heavy curtain. From far away, from beyond the curtain, comes the sound of drops falling on stone. Far, far away - the autumn, people, tomorrow. ("The North")

The shadows had sharp corners all cut out of the blue autumnal air and were so fragile you were afraid to touch them for fear they'd shatter into glass powder and blow away.

They were simply looking at the sky. In their eyes there was no vision: only the reflection of the blue and the absolute skies of early autumn. Those blue skies though, were unusual skies that I might never see again in my life.

I like spring, but it is too young. I like summer, but it is too proud. So I like best of all autumn, because its leaves are a little yellow, its tone mellower, its colours richer, and it is tinged a little with sorrow and a premonition of death. Its golden richness speaks not of the innocence of spring, nor of the power of summer, but of the mellowness and kindly wisdom of approaching age. It knows the limitations of life and is content.

when he walks, he sounds like a tree still full of dead leaves holding on.

Sunt înc?rcat cu amintiri ca un m?r, în toamn?. Scutura?i pomul ?i, dac? nu cad destule fructe, da?i cu pietre în el, sau, ?i mai bine, lovi?i-i fiecare creang? cu pr?jina. Pentru mine, amintirile sunt o grea povar?. Iau de pe inima mea o parte din aceast? povar? cu fiecare carte pe care o scriu.

You can't plead with autumn. No. The midnight wind stalked through the woods, hooted to frighten you, swept everything away for the approaching winter, whirled the leaves.

As summer turns to fall, Vincent, at twenty-six, is alone.

Lady Autumn, Queen of the Harvest, I have seen You in the setting Sun with Your long auburn tresses... You sit upon Your throne and watch the dying fires of the setting Sun shine forth its final colors in the sky... Lady Autumn, You are here at last...

the trees were putting on their September garments, brown and red and yellow

Autumn is the most beautiful time of the year in Ann Arbor because hundreds of different types of trees are filled with crisp orange and yellow leaves.

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away; Lengthen night and shorten day; Every leaf speaks bliss to me Fluttering from the autumn tree. I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow; I shall sing when night's decay Ushers in a drearier day.

The old church tower and garden wall Are black with autumn rain And dreary winds foreboding call The darkness down again

The wind I hear it sighing, with autumn's saddest sound; withered leaves all thick are lying, as spring-flowers on the ground. This dark night has won me to wander far away; old feelings gather fast upon me.