Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
My sorrow, when she's here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.
I saw old Autumn in the misty morn stand shadowless like silence, listening to silence.
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.