I am the autumnal sun
by Henry David Thoreau
Sometimes a mortal feels in himself Nature
— not his Father but his Mother stirs
within him– and he becomes immortal with her
I am the autumnal sun,
With autumn gales my race is run;
When will the hazel put forth its flowers,
Or the grape ripen under my bowers?
When will the harvest or the hunter’s moon
Turn my midnight into mid-noon?
I am all sere and yellow,
And to my core mellow.
The mast is dropping within my woods,
The winter is lurking within my moods,
And the rustling of the withered leaf
Is the constant music of my grief….
Summer left me weary
Summer left me crying
And in Summer’s dusty grave
My broken heart is lying.
So, come Autumn, in your madness
In your sun-filled delight
Dance to the wind’s wild music
In your skirts of gaudy bright.
Come, Autumn, come in laughing
In chartreuse and amber gold
Come in your mauve and browns
And wear your scarlet bold.
Come, Autumn, come in singing
Gay and mad and free
In wild entrancing splendor
To heal the heart of me!
Bonnie Brown Streubel