O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain'd
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
'The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.
'The spirits of the air live in the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.'
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,
Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.
This poem is in the public domain.
William Blake (1757 - 1827) was an English poet and painter. Best known today for his poem, "The Tyger," Blake enjoyed virtually no acclaim as a poet during his lifetime. Today, however, he is considered an immense talent in both literary and artistic circles. Trained as an engraver, Blake produced all but one of his poetry books himself. His wife—whom Blake himself taught to read, write, and draw—was a valued partner and critic. Much of Blake’s work focused on religious themes, with a colorful swirl of fantasy tossed in.
There are no comments for this poem yet.