Autumn Poems

Be inspired by these short autumn poems about fall that encourages you to enjoy the fall season. The beauty of the season can be inspiring and motivating.

692 Autumn is the time of year when the air is cooler but the days are usually filled with sunshine and warmth. The colors of the trees can be breathtaking, to say the least.

We hope these autumn poems are ones that will help you appreciate the season. And, you may also enjoy our collection of fall quotes


Poems About The Seasons   /    Autumn Poems




    the tints of autumn - a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, frost


  1. Autumn
    Poet: Zivan Vujcic, 2005

    Yellow leaves are falling
    covering the ground in gold,
    through the forest I'm strolling
    watching a circle that the nature has just made,
    but why do I feel old
    when the summer colours start to fade?

    Every leaf that has fallen
    reminds me of grey in my hair
    that passing time has stolen
    which once used to be long and fair,
    every bird that has flown to south
    like another breath taken from my mouth

    While days are getting shorter
    and flies are dancing their last,
    life enters into its final quarter
    how the time is passing so fast, I realize
    yesterday is already today's past
    before tomorrow brings a new surprise

    I wish I was here and there in my life
    but to many places I've never been
    while the thick fog is still rolling
    that could almost be cut with a knife
    through this autumn morning
    and the sun behind dark clouds can't be seen

    Listening to this tapping sound
    of the rain pouring to the ground
    and the wind playing with the last leaves at will
    in whisps they will be scattered
    butterflies are dead, their dust shattered
    but the colours of their wings remain, still




  2. autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go



  3. Unharvested
    Poet: Robert Frost

    A scent of ripeness from over a wall.
    And come to leave the routine road
    And look for what had made me stall,
    There, sure enough was an apple tree
    That had eased itself of its summer load.

    And of all but its trivial foliage free,
    Now breathed as light as a lady’s fan.
    For there had been an apple fall
    As complete as the apple had given man.
    The ground was one circle of solid red.

    May something always go unharvested!
    May much stay out of our stated plan,
    Apples or something forgotten and left,
    So smelling their sweetness would be no theft.




  4. if a year was tucked inside of a clock, then autumn would be the magic hour



  5. An October Garden
    Poet: Christina Rossetti, 1830 - 1894

    In my Autumn garden I was fain
    To mourn among my scattered roses;
    Alas for that last rosebud which uncloses
    To Autumn's languid sun and rain
    When all the world is on the wane!
    Which has not felt the sweet constraint of June,
    Nor heard the nightingale in tune.

    Broad-faced asters by my garden walk,
    You are but coarse compared with roses:
    More choice, more dear that rosebud which uncloses,
    Faint-scented, pinched, upon its stalk,
    That least and last which cold winds balk;
    A rose it is though least and last of all,
    A rose to me though at the fall.




  6. how beautiufl the leaves grow old. how full of light and colr are their last days



  7. Autumn Oracle
    Poet:  Laura Lee Randall

    A sunset sky, and the west wind sighing,
    A threat of winter . . . The wild gulls crying;
    Swift flocks of birds to the southland winging;
    Bare brown boughs in a frenzy flinging
    Dying leaves that for long were holden,
    Now driting, dropping, crimson and golden.

    The fallen leaves, in uncounted number,
    Are warmly quilting the wildflowers' slumber;
    There are buds on the bough...a springtime presage…
    The birds will return with a lyric message:
    The wild gull's cry holds a hint of mating,
    To conquer cold is the hearth fire waiting.

    The west wind's sighs are of love, not sorrow,
    And the sunset sky is the sign for tomorrow.




  8. Loneliness
    Poet: Trumbull Stickney, 1874 - 1904

    These autumn gardens, russet, gray and brown,
    The sward with shriveled foliage strown,
    The shrubs and trees
    By weary wings of sunshine overflown
    And timid silences, -

    Since first you, darling, called my spirit yours,
    Seem happy, and the gladness pours
    From day to day,
    And yester-year across this year endures
    Unto next year away.

    Now in these places where I used to rove
    And give the dropping leaves my love
    And weep to them,
    They seem to fall divinely from above,
    Like to a diadem

    Closing in one with the disheartened flowers.
    High up the migrant birds in showers
    Shine in the sky,
    And all the movement of the natural hours
    Turns into melody.




  9. I Like Fall
    Poet: Aileen Fisher


    I like fall:
    it always smells smoky,
    chimneys wake early,
    the sun is poky;

    Folks go past
    in a hustle and bustle,
    and when I scuff
    in the leaves, they rustle.

    I like fall:
    all the hills are hazy,
    and after a frost
    the puddles look glazy;

    And nuts rattle down
    where nobody's living.
    and pretty soon...
    it will be Thanksgiving.




  10. Autumn
    Poet: John Richard Moreland


    Autumn, Autumn, you did not see me spying
    When you laid your hand caressingly on summer’s drowsy head,
    But I saw her start and shiver,
    And I saw her wake and quiver,
    For your touch was cold as snow-time
    Though your mouth was flaming red.

    Autumn, Autumn, you did not see me watching
    As you crept among the grasses and swayed them with your breath.
    When the wild flowers bent to meet you,
    And the trees reached out to greet you,
    For they thought your touch was beauty
    But they found your kiss was death!

    Autumn, Autumn, I hate you and I love you,
    For with all your flame and passion you are nothing but a thief,
    Though you rival spring’s flame-magic,
    You are a lover old and tragic,
    And your purple, gold and crimson
    But a mask to hide your grief.




  11. october's poplars are flaming torches lighting the way to winter



  12. September
    Poet: Frances R. Haverga


    An April burst of beauty,
    And a May like the Mays of old.
    And a glow of summer gladness
    While June her long days told;
    And a hush of golden silence
    All through the bright July,
    Without one peal of thunder,
    Or a storm-wreath in the sky;
    And a fiery reign of August,
    Till the moon was on the wane;
    And then short clouded evenings,
    And a long and chilling rain.

    I thought the summer was over,
    And the whole year's glory spent,
    And that nothing but fog and drizzle
    Could be for Autumn meant; —
    Nothing but dead leaves, falling
    Wet on the dark, damp mold.
    Less and less of the sunshine,
    More and more of the cold.

    Is thy life-summer passing?
    Think not thy joys are o'er!
    Thou hast not seen what Autumn
    For thee may have in store.
    Calmer than breezy April,
    Cooler than August blaze.
    The fairest time of all may be
    September's golden days.
    Press on, though Summer waneth,
    And falter not, nor fear,
    For God can make the Autumn
    The glory of the year.



  13. Autumn
    Poet: Ellwood Haines Stokes

    I walked in the silence of Autumn,
    Through solitude's sacred retreat;
    I sighed with the winds of November,
    Where Summer had bowed in defeat;
    Defeat, for her green leaves were faded.
    Defeat, for the bloom was in blight,
    And the balmy breath of her mornings,
    Had changed to the chill of the night.

    And yet, as I paused in the silence.
    Sweet voices sighed soft through the air,
    And though death was stamped on the flowers,
    Yet death was transcendently fair;
    I gathered the leaves which had fallen.
    Their greenness and freshness were lost.
    Yet, dying, they gained in the glory,
    Bestowed by the sunlight and frost.

    The tints of imperial purple,
    The crimson, the russet, and brown.
    And gold like the fringe of the morning.
    In beauty had woven a crown;
    And this, on the brow of November,
    Flashed out in the light of the sun,
    Till dying was grander than living.
    And death was a victory won.

    I saw in the silence of Autumn,
    And solitude's sacred retreat,
    That death, while so cheerless to many,
    Could blush into beauty complete,
    Could out-glow the glory of living.
    And blaze in the face of decay,
    November with touches of splendor
    Out-blushing the blushes of May.

    And so I have seen in the human.
    Such lives as were grand to behold;
    Like forests in frosts of November,
    Whose glory was crownings of gold.
    Sublime in the vale of the dying,
    As their songs triumphantly roll.
    The sweet hallelujahs of Autumn,
    Breathed out as the joy of the soul.

    So the good, like leaves which are falling,
    Are beautiful in their decay;
    The tintings which grandly adorn them.
    Are glints of eternity's day.
    They fall, but they fall in their beauty.
    In beauty's increase they arise.
    They bask in the noonday of heaven.
    And glow in the glow of the skies.



  14. Be Humble
    Poet: Collen Vertz

    While walking through the woods one day
    When the leaves were red and brown,
    I heard a little bright tree say,
    "Just look at my crimson gown."

    She swished her gown so proudly,
    Bright yellow, red, and brown.
    A tree not quite so colorful said,
    "Be humble; God made your gown."


  15. Autumn
    Poet: Isaac W. Sanborn

    After the spring and the labor of days.
    After the summer sun's genial rays.
    Cometh the harvest of golden maize;
    'Tis autumn!

    Golden the harvest and rich in store,
    Bending the beams of the thresher's floor,
    Cheering the hearts of the laboring poor;
    'Tis autumn!

    Beautiful days and balmy air,
    After the season of toil and care,
    Silvery clouds flitting here and there;
    'Tis autumn!

    The fields are brown and the forests red,
    The singing birds of the lawn have fled,
    And the year is waning, too, 'tis said;
    'Tis autumn!

    Winter will come with Its frosts and snows;
    Prepare we may for its chilling- blows
    Before this plenteous season goes;
    'Tis autumn!



  16. Autumn
    Poet: D. S. Warner

    Gone is the spring with all its flowers,
    And gone the summer's verdant show;
    Now strewn beneath the autumn bowers,
    The yellow leaves await the snow.

    Behold this earth so cold and gray,
    An emblem of our life appears;
    Its blooming robes sink to decay,
    To rise again in round of years.

    Earth cheers its winter sleep with dreams
    Of springtime's warmth and gentle rain,
    When she shall wake to murmuring streams,
    And songs of merry birds again.

    So we came forth like springtime flowers,
    Soon into manhood's summer grow,
    Then like the leaves of autumn bowers,
    Lie down beneath the winter's snow.

    And there our bodies slumb'ring wait,
    Till time's short winter day has fled,
    And Christ, our Lord and Advocate,
    Shall come again to wake the dead.

    Then winter's storm and summer's heat
    Shall end in everlasting spring,
    And all immortal we shall meet,
    And round the throne of glory sing.



  17. Autumn Days
    Poet: Sanford N. Carpenter

    I am the Autumn, when "the frost is on
    The pumpkin, and the fodder's in the shock."
    Within the fields are piles of golden corn;
    And apples - yellow, red, and green and gold -
    In luscious richness hang upon the trees.
    The wayside pond and ev'ry bowing hedge
    Are fringed deep with bittersweet and fern.

    The cattle browse amidst the residue
    Of grass, on browning fields o' er hill and vale;
    While solemn blackbirds and the cawing crows
    Convention hold with grave and scolding rooks
    Where once the wren and robin filled the choir.
    The boastful cock rings out his "chanticleer"
    That greets the lighted lamp, presage of dawn.

    O'er all the lilting earth, the eye takes in
    The forest, meadow too, and then the hill:
    And afar - the mountains where are outdone
    The rainbow's color, shades and brilliant hues:
    All red and crimson, purple, saffron, too;
    Magenta, orange, blue and yellow bands
    So well shot through with evergreen and bronze.

    Along the garden walks, the marigold,
    Coxcomb, and mango red, bow low their heads:
    And, here and there, amidst the ruin's waster
    Where beauty's temple rose among the flowers
    Petunias old and golden glow still peep
    And wait the harder stroke to lay them low:
    While brighter, colder grows the moon each night:

    From blackened chimneys wisps of smoke curl out.
    There is a crispness and a tang in all
    The circumambient air that brings new thrusts
    Of frost, and wind and sun and stars:
    Bright, sunny days, and colder, deeper nights.
    Of all the days, the months, and seasons of
    The year my hours bring gayest thought and cheer



  18. Autumn
    Poet: Clinton A. Herwick

    Frosty is the morning, and the air is chill;
    Nature, robed in beauty, bows to Autumn's will;
    Leaves of gold and crimson thickly fly and fall,
    Stormy wind in eddies drives them one and all;
    Down they come in showers all around our feet;
    In the wood and meadow, in the vale and street,
    By the hedge and thicket, over marsh and plain -
    Ev'ry where they're whirling to the earth amain.

    Soon the sun, arising, casts a cheerful smile;
    Now he's brightly beaming, now he hides a while.
    Think you he is frowning over what he
    Over withered verdure, over naked trees?
    Nay, he runs his circuit just the same along,
    Shining without ceasing, beautiful and strong;
    Ruling all the seasons with his welcome glow,
    As they in rotation swiftly come and go.

    As the leaves of autumn wither in the cold,
    So our mortal bodies soon will turn to mold,
    But our spirits never; they'll outlive the sun,
    Throughout ages they'll live on and on.
    Therefore let us hasten wisdom to impart
    To the lost and dying, to the faint in heart;
    Speak of lasting comfort, happiness, and love;
    Point them to the Savior and to heaven above.



  19. Autumn
    Poet: John Rowland

    How calm, how sweet the days of autumn seem!
    The dreary earth is like a pleasing dream:
    October's sun makes paradise of noon;
    The starry night pays homage to the moon;
    The sun by day, the moon and stars by night,
    Fill every sense with strange and pure delight.

    Through all the long hot summer days have run
    Swift messengers to wait upon the sun,
    To spread the banquet for the autumn feast,
    For she among the season's lot the least.
    Into old Autumn's lap the ripe fruits fall,
    While all the trees and shrubs, or great or small.

    As if to worship with the fruit they bring,
    A whole year's large and bounteous offering.
    She bids the idlers taste and take their fill,
    While frisky squirrels gather where they will;
    She feeds the tiny birds, that know no care,

    With seeds dropped here and there and everywhere.
    The fairies, riding on the fresh'ning breeze,
    Bend down the topmost branches of the trees,
    Where hangs the apples, red and russet brown;
    That to the grassy mead come tumbling down,

    While age bent low and youth together pass,
    To find unharmed the fruit among the grass.
    She dips the maples in a rainbow dye,
    To please the wondrous gaze of passers-by;
    And day by day the marvelous colors grow,

    Till every leaf and fern are all aglow.
    The winter king she watches close with care;
    Lest some dread sign should make the good despair,
    She bids the hopeless mortal look and see
    Death's emblem as a pleasing mystery.




  20. Autumn Magic
    Poet: Berton Braley

    Frost on the trees-on the grass,
    A lilt to the steps that pass;
    Tang in the air - a breeze
    Waking an old unease;
    Haze when the day's begun.
    Dawn that is brisk and chill.
    Challenge and zest in the sun,
    Setting the blood a thrill!!
    Fall! - and the ducks are flying
    South on their ancient route.
    Hear them calling and crying!
    Hunter - come out! Come out!

    Fall - and the forest places
    Harbor the leaping deer.
    Think of those wooded spaces,
    Think of the campfire's cheer!
    The sound, sweet sleep, the lisp
    Of the leaves in the wind, the crisp
    And cleanly smell of the pines;
    Then the thrill of the chase- to find
    The track of a buck; the signs
    Of his light-foot path, and to read
    His ways; and to pit your mind
    Against the sight and the scent

    And the wariness and speed
    Of the wild free thing you stalk:
    Then the shot- and the proud content
    Of bringing your prize to camp;
    And, after the sturdy tramp.
    Supper and smoke and - talk.
    Ah, that is living indeed!
    Why do you wait and doubt?
    Hunter— come out! Come out!

    Fall- and a sapphire sky.
    And your blood in a flood that races,
    And the call of the ducks that fly,
    And the lure of the hunting places!
    Fall- and the air's astir
    With the tingle of life- the whirr
    Of a myriad myriad wings
    And the movement of wild wild things!
    Fall - and the call to you
    To come as you used to do
    Back on the good old route.
    Hunter— come out! Come out!




  21. The Autumn Woods
    Poet: Eva Beede Odell

    What beauty in the autumn woods!
    Where in the calm, deep solitudes,
    The amber sunshine finds its way,
    And checkered light and shadows play.

    Such beauty everywhere we turn!
    The moss-grown rock and drooping fern,
    The woodland flowers and trailing vines,
    The singing brooks and sighing pines,

    The murmur of the gentle breeze
    That stirs the yellow chestnut-leaves
    Till softly in the grasses brown
    The round and prickly burs drop down.

    The maples are in bright array
    Of mottled gold and crimson gay;
    The oak in deepest scarlet dressed;
    In cloth of gold are all the rest,

    Except that now and then between
    There stands a tall dark evergreen
    That sheds its spicy fragrance round,
    And drops its cones upon the ground

    With asters white and purple tinged,
    And golden-rod, the woods are fringed,
    With scarlet berries peeping through
    Where wild grapes hang of purple hue,

    And fiery-fingered ivy clings,
    While milk-weed floats on downy wings.
    The crickets chirp and insects hum,
    For glorious Autumn now has come.




  22. When The Woods Turn Brown
    Poet: Lucy Larcom

    How will it be when the roses fade
    Out of the garden and out of the glade?
    When the fresh pink bloom of the sweet-brier wild,
    That leans from the dell like the cheek of a child,
    Is changed for dry hips on a thorny bush?
    Then scarlet and carmine the groves will flush.

    How will it be when the autumn flowers
    Wither away from their leafless bowers;
    When sun-flower and star-flower and golden-rod
    Glimmer no more from the frosted sod;
    And hillside nooks are empty and cold?
    Then the forest-tops will be gay with gold.

    How will it be when the woods turn brown,
    Their gold and their crimson all dropped down.
    And crumbled to dust? Oh then, as we lay
    Our ear to earth's lips, we shall hear her say,
    "In the dark I am seeking new gems for my crown."
    We will dream of green leaves when the woods turn brown.




  23. Autumn Song
    Poet: Ellen Mackay Hutchinson

    Red leaf, gold leaf,
    Flutter down the wind:
    Life is brief, oh! life is brief,
    But Mother Earth is kind;
    From her dear bosom ye shall spring
    To new blossoming.

    The red leaf, the gold leaf,
    They have had their way;
    Love is long if life be brief, -
    Life is but a day;
    And Love from Grief and Death shall spring
    To new blossoming.

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Featured Famous Poets:

Robert Frost
Robert Frost


Christina Rossetti
Christina Rossetti


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Ellwood Haines Stokes


Berton Braley
Berton Braley



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Share these autumn quotes with others. Fall can be a time of year to get things in order before the arrival of winter. Enjoy the colors of this Fall!


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