Rich Days.       by W.H.Davies.

Welcome to you, rich Autumn days,

Ere comes the cold. leaf picking wind

When golden stooks are seen in fields

All standing arm in arm entwined.

All gallons of sweet cider seen

In trees in apples red and green.

With mellow pears that cheat or tell

Which melt that tongues may suck them in,

With cherries red, and blue-black plums,

Now sweet and soft from stone to skin

And wood nuts rich, to make us go

Into the loneliest lanes, we know.

Autumn.      By Jules Breton.

The river slowly flows. Besides the bank.

Its waters murmur round old Alder stumps

Tinted blood red; tall yellow poplars

Cast their golden leaves among the paler reeds.

The light wind weaves its moving net -

Bright silver wrinkles, leaving those dark spots

In which the trees drop cones and canopies

Trembling as if shaken by a host of birds.

From time to time, a Thrush’s thin repeated cry

And plunging from an overhead bough

A jewel sparkles in the clear blue air;

A sharp call draws out its strident note,

A Kingfisher, speeding on burning wing,

A furtive streak of emerald and fire.

Two very beautiful Autumn poems to enjoy as the season's change.