Autumn at Alphen
The ragged oaks are poking bare brown arms
Through outgrown dresses patched with russet and gold,
Displaying hitherto-well-hidden charms
In joyous unconcern. The wind, grown cold
In knowledge of rough Winter’s sure approach,
Is pinching leaf and flower with fingers bold
(And cheeks and noses too). Apollo’s coach
Rides tarnished through the heavens. Summer’s hold
On earth is loosed; swift birds in Northern flight
Wing strongly, pausing on bare boughs to scold.
A touch of frost lurks in the lengthening night
Where a Madonna moon is aureoled.
God grant when Autumn comes at length to me
I may grow old as years do, graciously.
Cape Times
Autumn Come to Town
“Autumn … what’s autumn?” … mumbles the sage,
And buries his nose in the printed page.
And the merchant shuttles his daily round
Hemmed in by shilling and pence and pound –
But you can’t transmute the Autumn gold
Into merchandise to be bought and sold.
In limousine luxury, to Town
The magnate rides, with worried frown,
And it might be winter or summer or spring
For all he sees of the lovely thing.
The brisk, important Man-of Affairs
Incarcerated in Stocks and Shares
Can find no loophole through which to see
The splendour of Autumn’s pageantry.
The banker banks, and the teller tells:
The draughtsman draughts, and salesman sells:
And the scholar buries his nose in his book,
Too busy to lift his eyes and look.
But Johnny and mother go down the street
With laughing eyes and lilting feet,
And laugh as the laughing oak trees shed
Golden showers on golden head.
And they laugh as leaves go dancing by,
Nor question the Autumn’s where or why-
They know that Autumn’s a psalm of praise
To God for his glorious golden days.
And I’d rather be Johnny when the Year’s at the Fall,
Than the wealthiest magnate of them all!
Autumn Depression
Summer is over… I have caught
The first low unmistakable warning
Of imminent Autumn. Unbethought,
I shall awaken one chill morning
To Winter, and to branches stark and bare
Of dreams, deserted nests bereft of song;
To realize, with something like despair,
That Winter may be half a life time long.
Autumn Ecstasy
Let me live to the full this glorious day
From the moment morning opens her sun-kissed eyes
To greet a sparkling world with renewed surprise.
Let me gather the bloom from the cheeks of day
Before her lover, the sun, has kissed away
Her innocence. This year let me be wise
From the instant the blushing mountain heralds the rise
Of the laggard sun, for beauty will not stay.
A gourmet I shall be, an epicure,
And savour to the full each burning tree,
Drinking every hour the ecstasy
Of being alive … for beauty will not endure
Let me so mingle this Autumn with my breath
That nothing may take it from me – even Death!
AUTUMN HUSH
What are you waiting for, you grey sky
Heavey with cloud, what are you waiting for?The mountains and the scarlet vines lie
Upon the bosom of the dam, no more
Rebuffed and scattered by her restless will.The crimson creeper hugs the western wall.
Even the sensitive poplar leaves are still...
Grave silence lays her hand upon them all.
“What are you waiting for?...” “The winds word
To say if Indian summer should prevail
A little while, or winter’s voice be heard
Across the devastation of the gale”Oh brooding silence, what are we waiting for—
A word of wind, to presage peace or war?
Autumn Landscape − Constantia
Three Jersey cows
Standing underneath the oaks
Upon the rich brown earth
That leans against the mountain where
It rises from the valley . . .
Dappled tree and dappled earth and dappled cow
Merging into Autumn there
In a dappled pattern
Rich and brown against the changing now. . .
Dappled beauty resting in a dappled light
And shadow of the Autumn,
And Summer taking flight.
Dorothea Spears
Autumn Leaves
Autumn should not bring sighs
Or sadness, or vain regrets;
But peace, and quiet eyes
As when the sun sets
After the noise of the day,
And the tired heart forgets
Its weariness in play.
The little leaves that have longed
All summer have their release,
The Autumn air is thronged!
Though death end their caprice
And silence stills delight-
What is death but peace
At the coming on of night?
They shall rest, their dancing done,
Quietly in the lane;
Smiled upon by the sun,
Wept over by the rain;
Content through the long dark hours…
And when summer comes again
Perhaps they will wake as flowers!
Autumn Mood
The days grow cold: the sunshine gold
Now dons a cloak of grey
And gay and brisk the North winds frisk
From the ruffled bay,
While at their call the brown leaves fall
And dance their life away.
Ah, then runs rife the thrill of life!
The dull heart wakes and sings
The very sod seems nearer God,
And Earth has taken wings
Oh, who can tell or what dispel
The mood that Autumn brings!
Autumn Over the Drakenstein
See there the whole breath-taking valley lies
Outstretched before our beauty dazzled eyes
In sudden splendour, spread horizon wide;
Such beauty as we had not dreamed could bide
Outside the flame-barred gates of paradise,
Throbbing with colour, red and bronze and gold!
The purple hills unrolling fold and fold
Melt softly into distance where the sky
Bends bluely down: the vineyards ache and cry
With colour, and the russet oak trees hold
The lambent sunshine that goes slipping through
Their latticed branches in a haze of blue
To lie upon the earth in umber pools.
The lovely, wanton poplars strew
Their shining leaves, a golden carpet spread
For laughing Autumn’s dancing feet to tread:
And through this vivid cloak of colour tossed
Across the valley, brilliantly embossed,
The road runs in and out, a silver thread.
In all that prodigal Autumn pageantry
Only the sombre pines stand solemnly,
Sounding across the senses like a knell –
All this shall vanish as a sorceror’s spell
While we remain unchanging, only we.
But I have filled my eyes and stored my soul
With beauty that shall last me for the whole
Of life if need be: there it will not fade,
The gold be tarnished nor the cloak frayed
Nor dimmed the luster of the aureole.
So moralize, ye pines, and leave the sod:
I laugh, and lift a thankful heart to God
That I but once have seen, with dazzled eyes,
A glimpse of His own golden paradise,
Consummate beauty conjured from a clod.
Autumn Piper
The Piper Pied, so Browning said,
Half in yellow and half in red
Was clad, and never again was seen,
With his magic pipe and fingers lean,
After he danced the children down
From mercenary Hamelin Town.
But I know better, for every year
In yellow and red he passes here.
At summer’s end he comes this way:
With pipe to lips he stops to play –
And pitter-patter from every street
The leaves go dancing at his feet!
Autumn Should Not Bring Sighs
Autumn should not bring sighs
Or sadness, or vain regrets:
But peace, and quiet eyes
As when the sun sets
After the noise of the day
And tired heart forgets
Its weariness in play.
The little leaves that have longed all Summer have release
The Autumn air is thronged!
Though Death and their caprice
And Silence still Delight
What is death but peace
At the coming on of night?
They shall rest, their dancing done
Quietly on the lane
Smiled upon by the sun,
Wept over by the rain,
Content through the long dark hours…
And when Summer comes again
Perhaps they will bloom as flowers.
Outspan Mag
Autumn's Turn
Now it is Autumn's turn to take the brush
And colour in the contours of the land
According to the habit of her hand.
Tentatively, first, she sets a flush
Across the leaves that linger at the hush
Ensuing Summer. She will understand
The pensiveness of patterning that's planned.
Preparing pigments for the Winter's rush.
Her palette is restrained: her mood is mellow,
But here and there she has a fling and flashes
Red and russet, as her fancies ply,
To brighten up the brown and buff and yellow:
And arrogantly, gloriously splashes
Towering clouds across a turquoise sky!
Dorothea Spears