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William Blake
William Blake
William Blake was born in London on November 28, 1757, to James,...
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FURTHER READING
Poems for Autumn
Not Merely Because of the Unknown That Was Stalking Toward Them [But the rocking chair]
by Jenny Boully
After Apple-Picking
by Robert Frost
Autumn
by Amy Lowell
Autumn
by Richard Garcia
Autumn
by T. E. Hulme
Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio
by James Wright
Autumn Evening
by David Lehman
Autumn Grasses
by Margaret Gibson
Autumn Movement
by Carl Sandburg
Fall
by Edward Hirsch
Fall Parties
by Becca Klaver
Home
by Bruce Weigl
Lament of the Middle Man
by Jay Parini
Late Autumn Wasp
by James Hoch
Leaves
by Lloyd Schwartz
Mnemosyne
by Trumbull Stickney
November
by William Cullen Bryant
November Night
by Adelaide Crapsey
October
by Robert Frost
Ode to the West Wind
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Spring and Fall
by Gerard Manley Hopkins
That time of year thou mayst in me behold (Sonnet 73)
by William Shakespeare
The Magpie's Shadow
by Yvor Winters
The Plain Sense of Things
by Wallace Stevens
The Widening Spell of the Leaves
by Larry Levis
The Wild Swans at Coole
by W. B. Yeats
To Autumn
by John Keats, read by Stanley Plumly
Under the Harvest Moon
by Carl Sandburg
When Autumn Came
by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
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To Autumn

 
by William Blake

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayst 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 on 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.






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