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Updated: May 27, 2025
Bleak and desolate does this country sometimes look in winter, though when the sun shines it is fair enough. And suddenly, as we ride along, a lovely valley is seen below: old-world farmhouses and gabled cottages come into view, nestling amid stately elms and beech trees already touched by autumn's hand.
Yet it was pleasing to the eye, and it had low, French windows that open like doors out on to the upper terrace. As I looked in it for the first time I saw that a few pictures adorned the walls: pressed fern leaves filled the mantel vases, and the bright remnants of last autumn's foliage were in some places fastened to the walls.
Upon a day not much later in the month a goodly day which thousands without a doubt were thinking all too short for the useful or merely delectable things they wanted to do a certain young man in Florence would, if he could, have treated this mellow golden masterpiece of autumn's like a bad sketch, torn it across and dropped it into the waste-basket.
"Our work is over over now, The goodman wipes his weary brow, The last long wain wends slow away, And we are free to sport and play. "The night comes on when sets the sun, And labour ends when day is done. When Autumn's gone and Winter's come, We hold our jovial harvest-home." Jeanie advanced to the bedside when the strain was finished, and addressed Madge by her name.
Years had passed with autumn's splendor, like a glistening shower of gems; Doubly rich the sunlight streamèd from the Yokul's diadems; Once again in joyful rapture he his native vale beheld, For the love long years had fostered whispered still of faith unquelled, Spite of silence, Hapless silence, That the timid tongue had spelled.
Each movement of the leathern-hided, wall-eyed steed which did our bidding was accompanied by a swishing of a sandy tail which had for its object the brushing away of autumn's harbingers, the bluebottles.
Around Sainte Marie the forests were gray and bare, and, in the cornfields, the oozy, half-thawed soil, studded with the sodden stalks of the last autumn's harvest, showed itself in patches through the melting snow. At nine o'clock on the morning of the sixteenth of March, the priests saw a heavy smoke rising over the naked forest towards the south-east, about three miles distant.
Hither all crowded, and rushed streaming to the bank, matrons and men and high-hearted heroes dead and done with life, boys and unwedded girls, and children laid young on the bier before their parents' eyes, multitudinous as leaves fall dropping in the forests at autumn's earliest frost, or birds swarm landward from the deep gulf, when the chill of the year routs them overseas and drives them to sunny lands.
She has vassals to attend her; She will bring, in spite of frost, Beauties that the earth hath lost; She will bring thee, all together, All delights of summer weather; All the buds and bells of May, From dewy sward or thorny spray; All the heaped Autumn's wealth, With a still, mysterious stealth; She will mix those pleasures up, Like three fit wines in a cup, And thou shall quaff it! Ah!
Not an infant dies or is born, but is made the subject of verse; nay, its smiles and tears are put on record; its hobby-horse, and its infant ideas as they begin to bud and breathe aloud. Then comes the eternal strain about summer blooms and spring flowers; autumn's melancholy and winter's storms, until one sickens of the intolerable monotony. Such are the things that your great cities demand.
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