Autumn Poems – Vol. 1



A.R. Ammons


Fall’s leaves are redder than

spring’s flowers, have no pollen,

and also sometimes fly, as the wind

schools them out or down in shoals

or droves: though I

have not been here long, I can

look up at the sky at night and tell

how things are likely to go for

the next hundred million years:

the universe will probably not find

a way to vanish nor I

in all that time reappear.

Autumn Sunshine

D.H. Lawrence


The sun sets out the autumn crocuses

        And fills them up a pouring measure

        Of death-producing wine, till treasure

 Runs waste down their chalices.

 All, all Persephone’s pale cups of mould

        Are on the board, are over-filled;

        The portion to the gods is spilled;

 Now, mortals all, take hold!

 The time is now, the wine-cup full and full

        Of lambent heaven, a pledging-cup;

        Let now all mortal men take up

 The drink, and a long, strong pull.

  Out of the hell-queen’s cup, the heaven’s pale wine –

        Drink then, invisible heroes, drink.

        Lips to the vessels, never shrink,

  Throats to the heavens incline.

  And take within the wine the god’s great oath

        By heaven and earth and hellish stream

        To break this sick and nauseous dream

  We writhe and lust in, both.

  Swear, in the pale wine poured from the cups of the queen

        Of hell, to wake and be free

        From this nightmare we writhe in,

  Break out of this foul has-been.

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