Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Autumn Poems

Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain,
With banners, by great gales incessant fanned,
Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand,
And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain!
...

It is autumn; not without
But within me is the cold.
Youth and spring are all about;
It is I that have grown old.
...

It is autumn; not without
But within me is the cold.
Youth and spring are all about;
It is I that have grown old.
...

With what a glory comes and goes the year!
The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers
Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy
...