Autumn Poetry: Reflections on the Passage of Time

“Autumn Woods,” 1886, by Albert Bierstadt. Poets express the beauty of the season. Public Domain

More than any other season, autumn reminds us of time’s passing and of our own transience. Everything about us is in motion; the cascade of leaves, the rapid succession of colors, and the onset of chill evoke time’s passage and mortality. At the same time, there is a delicate balance between the time of abundant harvest and the time of fading and approaching decay.

The natural beauty of the season is therefore an opportunity for reflection on our place in time. Among the many poems dwelling on autumn as an illustration of our mortality, the following poems explore our relationship to time and also demonstrate how natural beauty can stir the soul to the contemplation of higher things.

Each of the poets, in different ways, shows that autumn is a tangible and visible reminder of the whole of our lives in which joy and sorrow are held in tension and are always both fiercely present.

‘Autumn’ by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, With banners, by great gales incessant fanned,   Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand,   And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain! Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne, Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand Outstretched with benedictions o'er the land, Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain! Thy shield is the red harvest moon, suspended So long beneath the heaven’s o'erhanging eaves; Thy steps are by the farmer’s prayers attended; Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves; And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid, Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves!

Longfellow’s Italian sonnet (an octave of 8 lines and sestet of 6 lines) personifies Autumn as a royal figure making as stately an arrival in the modern day as Charlemagne made in days of old. The religious language of the poem paints Autumn as a figure with both temporal and spiritual authority, attending the prayers of the farmers and receiving the fruits of the harvest like sacrifices upon an altar. Her riches consist of natural beauty, and she generously gives them to those who have none—her golden leaves bestowed like alms upon those souls thirsting for beauty.

Through this depiction of Autumn as being almost a divinity compared to man, Longfellow underlines mankind’s dependence on nature as she provides him with both physical and spiritual food. Contrasted with the grand, regal figure of Autumn, her subjects seem humble in stature as she stretches out her hand across the lands in benediction. Her rule endures far longer than that of any human ruler.

“Autumn,” 1900, by John William Godward. Wordsworth portrays the season as a magestic ruler. Public Domain

‘October’ by Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; Tomorrow they may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow. Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in the way you know. Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; One from our trees, one far away. Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst. Slow, slow! For the grapes’ sake, if they were all, Whose leaves already are burnt with frost, Whose clustered fruit must else be lost— For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

Robert Frost said that winter is near when there are fallen leaves. Volodymyr Tverdokhlib/Shutterstock

In his poem, Frost depicts the fragility of life with the image of leaves precariously hanging from the trees, susceptible to the slightest breeze. Similarly, human life rushes to its end, which can come suddenly and unexpectedly. Entreating the October morning to tarry on its way, the speaker expresses the universal willingness to avoid confronting the reality of our mortality. We crave the illusion of an abundance of time, preferring illusions and enchantments to a difficult reality.

Frost even slows the progression of the poem by forcing the reader to linger on the line “Slow, slow!” before imbuing the poem with a sense of urgency. The last four lines imply that winter is practically upon us already, and still there is much work to be done in harvesting the grapes. Hung in a delicate balance between leisure and hurry, the poem illustrates that the fleeting beauty of autumn serves as a reminder to act and not waste what there is to be gleaned from the present moment.

‘Spring and Fall’ by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Márgarét, áre you gríeving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leáves like the things of man, you With your fresh thoughts care for, can you? Ah! ás the heart grows older It will come to such sights colder By and by, nor spare a sigh Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie; And yet you wíll weep and know why. Now no matter, child, the name: Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same. Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed What heart heard of, ghost guessed: It ís the blight man was born for, It is Margaret you mourn for.

The clever wordplay in Hopkins’s poem coalesces well with the childlike perception of the world that only dimly comprehends why autumn could be a cause for sorrow. The pun on “unleaving” points to trees losing their leaves, underlining the fact that the “Goldengrove” is not really unleaving in a permanent sense at all. The cause of death in nature is the Fall of Man: “Sorrow’s springs are the same” in that the evil in the world, according to Hopkins, stems from original sin.

The title of the poem not only refers to the seasons but to the moment in the Garden of Eden, where man falls from grace and sorrow springs from it. The only cold in the poem comes from the loss of childhood innocence, which so grievously mourns the dying leaves, though the growth of awareness of the root cause should stir in us deeper sorrow. Intuitively, in each instance of mourning death or fading beauty in the world around us, we mourn for ourselves in sensing that such a fate is our own.

“Windows with sunrise in the forest in spring and autumn sunset,” 1905, by Louis Comfort Tiffany. Public Domain

’Fall’ by Rainer Maria Rilke (translated by Peter Vertacnik)

The leaves are falling, falling from afar, from distant gardens wilting in the heavens; they fall as if refusing their descent.

And in the nights, through lonely firmament, the grave earth falls, away from every star.

We’re falling, each of us. This hand here bends. And look at others: it is in them all.

And yet there is One capturing each fall within his infinitely gentle hands.

Perhaps even in our fallen state, we fall into the hand of God. djgis/Shutterstock

The many translations of Rilke’s poem “Fall” are worth exploring for the different aspects of the poem they are able to capture, but I am partial to this one for its preservation of the original’s melodious language. As Rilke progresses from the micro scene of the falling leaves to the cosmic scene of earth falling through space, he arrives at the simple yet eloquent expression of the universal truth of the human condition: “We’re falling, each of us. This hand here bends./ And look at others: it is in them all.”

At the same time, though each of us falls, we are not without hope. There is One to catch us in our fall, such that our descent is no more violent than the tarrying dance of a falling leaf to the soft ground below.

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