"I am not one who was born in the custody of wisdom. I am one who is fond of olden times and intense in quest of the sacred knowing of the ancients." Gustave Courbet

22 September 2022


Wyeth, N.C., Chadds Ford Hills, 1931



The Autumn wind on suthering wings
Plays round the oak-tree strong
And through the hawthorn hedges sings
The years departing song
There's every leaf upon the whirl
Ten thousand times an hour
The grassy meadows crisp and curl
With here and there a flower
There's nothing in the world I find
That pleases like the Autumn wind.


The chaffinch flies from out the bushes
The bluecap " tee hees" on the tree
The wind sues on in merry gushes
His murmuring autumns minstrelsy
The robin sings his autumn song
Upon the crabtree overhead
The clouds like smoak slow sail along
Leaves rustle like the human tread
There's nothing suits my musing mind
So pleasant as the Autumn wind.


How many miles it suthers on
And stays to dally with the leaves
And when the first broad blast is gone
A stronger gust the foliage heaves
The poplar tree it turns to gray
As leaves lift up their underside
The birch it dances all the day
To rippling billows petrified
There's nothing calms the quiet mind
So welcome as the Autumn wind.


Sweet twittering o'er the meadow grass
Soft sueing o'er the fallow ground
The lark starts up as on they pass
With many a gush and moaning sound
It fans the feathers of the bird
And ruffs the robins ruddy breast
As round the hovel end it whirled
Then sobs and gallops o'er the west
In solitude the musing mind
Must ever love the Autumn wind.

John Clare

'Tis Autumn.

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