Fall

      Fall is an American term for one of the four seasons. In other English-speaking countries it is called Autumn.

      Sourced

      • falling leaves
        hide the path
        so quietly
        • John Bailey, Autumn, a haiku year, 2001.
      • Earth's crammed with heaven,
        And every common bush afire with God;
        And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
        The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.
      • If winter is slumber and spring is birth, and summer is life, then autumn rounds out to be reflection. It's a time of year when the leaves are down and the harvest is in and the perennials are gone. Mother Earth just closed up the drapes on another year and it's time to reflect on what's come before.
        • Mitchell Burgess, Northern Exposure (Thanksgiving, 1992).
      • The mellow autumn came, and with it came
        The promised party, to enjoy its sweets.
        The corn is cut, the manor full of game;
        The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats
        In russet jacket;—lynx-like is his aim;
        Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats.
        Ah, nutbrown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants!
        And ah, ye poachers!—'Tis no sport for peasants.
      • October gave a party;
        The leaves by hundreds came -
        The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
        And leaves of every name.
        The Sunshine spread a carpet,
        And everything was grand,
        Miss Weather led the dancing,
        Professor Wind the band.
        • George Cooper, October's Party.
      • For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together. For nature, it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad.
        • Edwin Way Teale, Autumn Across America.
      • Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
        While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
        Comes jovial on.

      Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations

      Quotes reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922), p. 51-53.
      • Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods,
        And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt,
        And night by night the monitory blast
        Wails in the key-hole, telling how it pass'd
        O'er empty fields, or upland solitudes,
        Or grim wide wave; and now the power is felt
        Of melancholy, tenderer in its moods
        Than any joy indulgent Summer dealt.
      • O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
        With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
        Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayest rest
        And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
        And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
        Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
      • Autumn wins you best by this, its mute
        Appeal to sympathy for its decay.
      • Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson,
        Yet our full-leaved willows are in their freshest green.
        Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing
        With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.
      • The melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year,
        Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.
      • All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,
        Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn.
      • Yellow, mellow, ripened days,
        Sheltered in a golden coating;
        O'er the dreamy, listless haze,
        White and dainty cloudlets floating;
        Winking at the blushing trees,
        And the sombre, furrowed fallow;
        Smiling at the airy ease,
        Of the southward flying swallow.
        Sweet and smiling are thy ways,
        Beauteous, golden Autumn days.
      • A breath, whence no man knows,
        Swaying the grating weeds, it blows;
        It comes, it grieves, it goes.
        Once it rocked the summer rose.
      • I saw old Autumn in the misty morn
        Stand shadowless like silence, listening
        To silence, for no lonely bird would sing
        Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,
        Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;—
        Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright
        With tangled gossamer that fell by night,
        Pearling his coronet of golden corn.
      • The Autumn is old;
        The sere leaves are flying;
        He hath gather'd up gold,
        And now he is dying;—
        Old age, begin sighing!
      • The year's in the wane;
        There is nothing adorning;
        The night has no eve,
        And the day has no morning;
        Cold winter gives warning!
      • 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-eaves run;
        To bend with apples the moss'd cottage trees,
        And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core.
      • Third act of the eternal play!
        In poster-like emblazonries
        "Autumn once more begins today"—
        'Tis written all across the trees
        In yellow letters like Chinese.
      • It was Autumn, and incessant
        Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves,
        And, like living coals, the apples
        Burned among the withering leaves.
      • What visionary tints the year puts on,
        When falling leaves falter through motionless air
        Or numbly cling and shiver to be gone!
        How shimmer the low flats and pastures bare,
        As with her nectar Hebe Autumn fills
        The bowl between me and those distant hills,
        And smiles and shakes abroad her misty, tremulous hair!
      • Every season hath its pleasures;
        Spring may boast her flowery prime,
        Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures
        Brighten Autumn's sob'rer time.
      • Autumn
        Into earth's lap does throw
        Brown apples gay in a game of play,
        As the equinoctials blow.
      • Sorrow and the scarlet leaf,
        Sad thoughts and sunny weather;
        Ah me! this glory and this grief
        Agree not well together!
      • Ye flowers that drop, forsaken by the spring,
        Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to sing,
        Ye trees that fade, when Autumn heats remove,
        Say, is not absence death to those who love?
      • Thus sung the shepherds till th' approach of night,
        The skies yet blushing with departing light,
        When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade,
        And the low sun had lengthened every shade.
      • O, it sets my heart a clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
        When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
      • This sunlight shames November where he grieves
        In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun
        The day, though bough with bough be overrun.
        But with a blessing every glade receives
        High salutation.
      • The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing,
        The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying;
        And the year
        On the earth her deathbed, in a shroud of leaves dead,
        Is lying.
        Come, months, come away,
        From November to May,
        In your saddest array;
        Follow the bier
        Of the dead cold year,
        And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.
      • Cold autumn, wan with wrath of wind and rain,
        Saw pass a soul sweet as the sovereign tune
        That death smote silent when he smote again.
      • Autumn has come;
        Storming now heaveth the deep sea with foam,
        Yet would I gratefully lie there,
        Willingly die there.
      • How are the veins of thee, Autumn, laden?
        Umbered juices,
        And pulpèd oozes
        Pappy out of the cherry-bruises,
        Froth the veins of thee, wild, wild maiden.
        With hair that musters
        In globèd clusters,
        In tumbling clusters, like swarthy grapes,
        Round thy brow and thine ears o'ershaden;
        With the burning darkness of eyes like pansies,
        Like velvet pansies
        Where through escapes
        The splendid might of thy conflagrate fancies;
        With robe gold-tawny not hiding the shapes
        Of the feet whereunto it falleth down,
        Thy naked feet unsandalled;
        With robe gold-tawny that does not veil
        Feet where the red
        Is meshed in the brown,
        Like a rubied sun in a Venice-sail.
      • We lack but open eye and ear
        To find the Orient's marvels here;
        The still small voice in autumn's hush,
        Yon maple wood the burning bush.
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      Unsourced

      • October's poplars are flaming torches lighting the way to winter.
        • Nova Bair
      • Youth is like spring, an over praised season more remarkable for biting winds than genial breezes. Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.
      • Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
      • Besides the autumn poets sing,
        A few prosaic days
        A little this side of the snow
        And that side of the haze.
      • No spring, nor summer beauty hath such grace As I have seen in one autumnal face; Young beauties force our love, and that's a rape; This doth but counsel, yet you cannot scape.
      • Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
      • Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter.
        • Carol Bishop Hipps
      • Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.
        • Stanley Horowitz
      • It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life.
      • Everyone must take time to sit and watch the leaves turn.
        • Elizabeth Lawrence
      • Fall is my favorite season in Los Angeles, watching the birds change color and fall from the trees.
      • October is a symphony of permanence and change.
        • Bonaro W. Overstreet
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      External links

      Wikipedia
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      Last modified on 27 May 2013, at 15:44