WordPlay

A play on words. Poetry in motion

The Autumn | Poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

The Autumn Poem 

................... by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.

The summer sun is faint on them --
The summer flowers depart --
Sit still -- as all transform'd to stone,
Except your musing heart.


How there you sat in summer-time,
May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing
Beneath the freshening wind.

Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.


Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We cannot bear its visitings,
When change is on the heart.

Gay words and jests may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!

The dearest hands that clasp our hands, --
Their presence may be o'er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Which once refresh'd our mind,
Shall come -- as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.


Hear not the wind -- view not the woods;
Look out o'er vale and hill-
In spring, the sky encircled them --
The sky is round them still.

Come autumn's scathe -- come winter's cold --
Come change -- and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne'er be desolate.


_______________________________________________________________________________________

Elizabeth Barrett Browning - Wikipedia

Elizabeth Barrett Browning - Poet | Academy of American Poets

Buy Elizabeth Barrett Browning
at Amazon


Buy Elizabeth Barrett Browning
at Barnes and Noble


_______________________________________________________________________________________

We hope you enjoyed the The Autumn Poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning


The last poem was The Albatross | Poem by Charles Baudelaire. The next poem is The Bad Monk | Poem by Charles Baudelaire

The button below can help educators and others link to this page:


Share