In the dying heat following the passing of summer, thoughts turn to becoming attuned to autumn. On the floor, amongst the fallen leaves are also fallen words. Some are the same words from last year; and these fragments are now joined with other's that have sorted themselves to the surface. As usual, none of the words are my own. Such slants on autumn are accompanied with some photographs around Lower Brockhampton in Herefordshire.
acorns'Time Of No Reply' by Nick Drake
Summer was gone and the heat died down
And Autumn reached for her golden crown
I looked behind as I heard a sigh
But this was the time of no reply.
The sun went down and the crowd went home
I was left by the roadside all alone
I turned to speak as they went by
But this was the time of no reply.
The time of no reply is calling me to stay
There is no hello and no goodbye
To leave there is no way.
The trees on the hill had nothing to say
They would keep their dreams till another day
So they stood and thought and wondered why
For this was the time of no reply.
Time goes by from year to year
And no one asks why I am standing here
But I have my answer as I look to the sky
This is the time of no reply.
The time of no reply is calling me to stay
There is no hello and no goodbye
To leave there is no way.
Summer was gone and the heat died down
And Autumn reached for her golden crown
I looked behind as I heard a sigh
But this was the time of no reply.
Summer was gone and the heat died down
And Autumn reached for her golden crown
I looked behind as I heard a sigh
But this was the time of no reply.
The sun went down and the crowd went home
I was left by the roadside all alone
I turned to speak as they went by
But this was the time of no reply.
The time of no reply is calling me to stay
There is no hello and no goodbye
To leave there is no way.
The trees on the hill had nothing to say
They would keep their dreams till another day
So they stood and thought and wondered why
For this was the time of no reply.
Time goes by from year to year
And no one asks why I am standing here
But I have my answer as I look to the sky
This is the time of no reply.
The time of no reply is calling me to stay
There is no hello and no goodbye
To leave there is no way.
Summer was gone and the heat died down
And Autumn reached for her golden crown
I looked behind as I heard a sigh
But this was the time of no reply.
burning leaves and berriesfrom 'Mississippi', by Bob Dylan
...Walking through the leaves
Falling from the trees
Feeling like a stranger nobody sees
So many things that we never will undo
I know you're sorry
I'm sorry too...
leaves turning bronze and red berries'Field of Autumn', by Laurie Lee
Slow moves the acid breath of noon
over the copper-coated hill,
slow from the wild crab's bearded breast
the palsied apples fall.
Like coloured smoke the day hangs fire,
taking the village without sound;
the vulture-headed sun lies low
chained to the violet ground.
The horse upon the rocky height
rolls all the valley in his eye,
but dares not raise his foot or move
his shoulder from the fly.
The sheep, snail-backed against the wall,
lifts her blind face but does not know
the cry her blackened tongue gives forth
is the first bleat of snow.
Each bird and stone, each roof and well,
feels the gold foot of autumn pass;
each spider binds with glittering snare
the splintered bones of grass.
Slow moves the hour that sucks our life,
slow drops the late wasp from the pear,
the rose tree's thread of scent draws thin -
and snaps upon the air.
late summer roses
Autumn Haiku, by Clyde Holmes
The trees are open
cages - now the leaves escape
through bars they reveal
fruit on an old damson tree
'Autumn', by John Clare
The thistledown's flying, though the winds are all still,
On the green grass now lying, now mounting the hill,
The spring from the fountain now boils like a pot;
Through stones past the counting it bubbles red-hot.
The ground parched and cracked is like overbaked bread,
The greensward all wracked is, bents dried up and dead.
The fallow fields glitter like water indeed,
And gossamers twitter, flung from weed unto weed.
Hill-tops like hot iron glitter bright in the sun,
And the rivers we're eying burn to gold as they run;
Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air;
Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.
autumn twigs and berries
from 'Summer Days', by Bob Dylan
Summer days, summer nights are gone ...
I know a place where there's still somethin' going on
Everybody get ready - lift up your glasses and sing ...
Well, I'm standin' on the table, I'm proposing a toast to the King
Where do you come from? Where do you go?
Sorry that's nothin' you would need to know
Well, my back has been to the wall for so long, it seems like it's stuck
Why don't you break my heart one more time just for good luck?
Well, the fog's so thick you can't spy the land ...
What good are you anyway, if you can't stand up to some old businessman?
Wedding bells ringin', the choir is beginning to sing ...
What looks good in the day, at night is another thing
Standing by God's river, my soul is beginnin' to shake ...
I'm countin' on you love, to give me a break
Well, I'm leaving in the morning as soon as the dark clouds lift ...
Gonna break the roof in - set fire to the place as a parting gift
Summer days, summer nights are gone ...
I know a place where there's still somethin' going on
scent of the late honeysuckle
Slow moves the acid breath of noon
over the copper-coated hill,
slow from the wild crab's bearded breast
the palsied apples fall.
Like coloured smoke the day hangs fire,
taking the village without sound;
the vulture-headed sun lies low
chained to the violet ground.
The horse upon the rocky height
rolls all the valley in his eye,
but dares not raise his foot or move
his shoulder from the fly.
The sheep, snail-backed against the wall,
lifts her blind face but does not know
the cry her blackened tongue gives forth
is the first bleat of snow.
Each bird and stone, each roof and well,
feels the gold foot of autumn pass;
each spider binds with glittering snare
the splintered bones of grass.
Slow moves the hour that sucks our life,
slow drops the late wasp from the pear,
the rose tree's thread of scent draws thin -
and snaps upon the air.
late summer rosesAutumn Haiku, by Clyde Holmes
The trees are open
cages - now the leaves escape
through bars they reveal
fruit on an old damson tree'Autumn', by John Clare
The thistledown's flying, though the winds are all still,
On the green grass now lying, now mounting the hill,
The spring from the fountain now boils like a pot;
Through stones past the counting it bubbles red-hot.
The ground parched and cracked is like overbaked bread,
The greensward all wracked is, bents dried up and dead.
The fallow fields glitter like water indeed,
And gossamers twitter, flung from weed unto weed.
Hill-tops like hot iron glitter bright in the sun,
And the rivers we're eying burn to gold as they run;
Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air;
Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.
autumn twigs and berriesfrom 'Summer Days', by Bob Dylan
Summer days, summer nights are gone ...
I know a place where there's still somethin' going on
Everybody get ready - lift up your glasses and sing ...
Well, I'm standin' on the table, I'm proposing a toast to the King
Where do you come from? Where do you go?
Sorry that's nothin' you would need to know
Well, my back has been to the wall for so long, it seems like it's stuck
Why don't you break my heart one more time just for good luck?
Well, the fog's so thick you can't spy the land ...
What good are you anyway, if you can't stand up to some old businessman?
Wedding bells ringin', the choir is beginning to sing ...
What looks good in the day, at night is another thing
Standing by God's river, my soul is beginnin' to shake ...
I'm countin' on you love, to give me a break
Well, I'm leaving in the morning as soon as the dark clouds lift ...
Gonna break the roof in - set fire to the place as a parting gift
Summer days, summer nights are gone ...
I know a place where there's still somethin' going on
scent of the late honeysucklePoem XXIX from 'Last Poems' by A. E. Housman
When summer's end is nighing
And skies at evening cloud,
I muse on change and fortune
And all the feats I vowed
When I was young and proud.
The weathercock at sunset
Would lose the slanted ray,
And I would climb the beacon
That looked to Wales away
And saw the last of day.
From hill and cloud and heaven
The hues of evening died;
Night welled through lane and hollow
And hushed the countryside,
But I had youth and pride.
And I with earth and nightfall
In converse high would stand,
Late, till the west was ashen
And darkness hard at hand,
And the eye lost the land.
The year might age, and cloudy
The lessening day might close,
But air of other summers
Breathed from beyond the snows,
And I had hope of those.
They came and were and are not
And come no more anew;
And all the years and seasons
That ever can ensue
Must now be worse and few.
So here's an end of roaming
On eves when autumn nighs:
The ear too fondly listens
For summer's parting sighs,
And then the heart replies.
When summer's end is nighing
And skies at evening cloud,
I muse on change and fortune
And all the feats I vowed
When I was young and proud.
The weathercock at sunset
Would lose the slanted ray,
And I would climb the beacon
That looked to Wales away
And saw the last of day.
From hill and cloud and heaven
The hues of evening died;
Night welled through lane and hollow
And hushed the countryside,
But I had youth and pride.
And I with earth and nightfall
In converse high would stand,
Late, till the west was ashen
And darkness hard at hand,
And the eye lost the land.
The year might age, and cloudy
The lessening day might close,
But air of other summers
Breathed from beyond the snows,
And I had hope of those.
They came and were and are not
And come no more anew;
And all the years and seasons
That ever can ensue
Must now be worse and few.
So here's an end of roaming
On eves when autumn nighs:
The ear too fondly listens
For summer's parting sighs,
And then the heart replies.
damsons'Fallen Leaves', by Eliza Carthy
you are only pretty if you disappear
and you must be beautiful for them, my dear
whatever before you wanted to achieve
is lost to this love to turn to fallen leaves
the fallen leaves that cover everything
must lie together all in your eyes
then you can live among the privileged
oh but don't appear to be more than mine
I am only pretty if I disappear
I see myself and wish me gone
when others strive to keep themselves alive
I will rise and fall in this crowd alone
my love for you is like the morning
that had the window once to come in
but still the curtains twitch and shudder
the house where i'm supposed to live closes again
with every step this Light gets stronger
and more of my face and skin is seen
I see the Light fall on my children
and fight for them and myself again
and here I am: my island, my home
and pretty flowers all rot and fade
the scent of death does nought to cover me
nor does the water all around my bed
oh when will I embrace my darling?
you're head and hair in the lonesome night?
no matter what I do or say my love
or where I walk on these bistered feet
you are only pretty when you disappear
and you must be beautiful for them my dear
whatever before you wanted to achieve
is lost to this to turn to fallen leaves
you are only pretty if you disappear
and you must be beautiful for them, my dear
whatever before you wanted to achieve
is lost to this love to turn to fallen leaves
the fallen leaves that cover everything
must lie together all in your eyes
then you can live among the privileged
oh but don't appear to be more than mine
I am only pretty if I disappear
I see myself and wish me gone
when others strive to keep themselves alive
I will rise and fall in this crowd alone
my love for you is like the morning
that had the window once to come in
but still the curtains twitch and shudder
the house where i'm supposed to live closes again
with every step this Light gets stronger
and more of my face and skin is seen
I see the Light fall on my children
and fight for them and myself again
and here I am: my island, my home
and pretty flowers all rot and fade
the scent of death does nought to cover me
nor does the water all around my bed
oh when will I embrace my darling?
you're head and hair in the lonesome night?
no matter what I do or say my love
or where I walk on these bistered feet
you are only pretty when you disappear
and you must be beautiful for them my dear
whatever before you wanted to achieve
is lost to this to turn to fallen leaves
leafless tree
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