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FOUR SEASONS: AUTUMN

by Kenji
The image above is from Far from Heaven. This is the time of the falling leaves, And the sheaves of gold are now gone. All that is left for me now is to grieve For the love that i lost in the sun. ~~ John Keats: To Autumn (from) Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until… Read more

The image above is from Far from Heaven.

This is the time of the falling leaves,
And the sheaves of gold are now gone.
All that is left for me now is to grieve
For the love that i lost in the sun.

~~

John Keats: To Autumn (from)

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

~~

Dylan Thomas: Poem in October (from)

My birthday began with the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose
In a rainy autumn
And walked abroad in shower of all my days
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border
And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.

A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
Summery
On the hill’s shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.

~~

Rilke: Autumn Day

Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by.
Now overlap the sundials with your sundials,
and on the meadows let the wind go free.

Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine;
grant them a few more warm transparent days,
urge them on to fulfillment then, and press
the final sweetness into the heavy wine.

Whoever has no house now, will never have one.
Whoever is alone will stay alone,
will sit, read, write long letters through the evening,
and wander on the boulevards, up and down,
restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing.

~~~

The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon (from)

It was a clear moonlit night a little after the tenth of the Eighth Month. Her Majesty, who was residing in the Empress’s Office, sat by the edge of the veranda while Ukon no Naishi played the flute for her. The other ladies in attendance sat together, talking and laughing; but i stayed by myself, leaning against one of the pillars between the main hall and the veranda.

“Why so silent?” said Her Majesty. “Say something. It is sad when you do not speak”.

“I am gazing into the autumn moon”, i replied.

“Ah, yes”, she remarked. “That is just what you should have said”.

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