Explore Poems GO!

Sonnet Lxix: Autumn Idleness

Rating: 2.8

This sunlight shames November where he grieves
In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun
The day, though bough with bough be over-run.
But with a blessing every glade receives
High salutation; while from hillock-eaves
The deer gaze calling, dappled white and dun,
As if, being foresters of old, the sun
Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves.
Here dawn to-day unveiled her magic glass;
Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew;

Till eve bring rest when other good things pass.
Read More

READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS OF THE POEM