Стихи про осень в Англии

by Robert Frost Spades take up leavesNo better than spoons,And bags full of leavesAre light as balloons.I make a great noiseOf rustling all dayLike rabbit and deerRunning away.But the mountains I raiseElude my embrace,Flowing over my armsAnd into my face.I may load and unloadAgain and againTill I fill the whole shed,And what have I then?Next to nothing for weight,And since they grew dullerFrom contact with earth,Next to nothing for color.Next to nothing for use.But a crop is a crop,And who's to say whereThe harvest shall stop?

The rarest Autumn morning, of leaves set all ablaze. The mildest touch of sunlight, amid the Autumn haze. The booted feet of daybreak, falling to the ground, The cool clear air a stirring, God's poetry profound.

In the other gardensAnd all up the vale,From the autummn bonfiresSee the smoke trail!Pleasant summer overAnd all the summer flowers,The red fires blaze,The grey smoke towers.Sing a song of seasons!Something bright in all!Flowers in the summer,Fires in the fall!