Autumn Song

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the heart feels a languid grief
Laid on it for a covering,
And how sleep seems a goodly thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

And how the swift beat of the brain
Falters because it is in vain,
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf
Knowest thou not? and how the chief
Of joys seems—not to suffer pain?

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
Bound up at length for harvesting,
And how death seems a comely thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Comments (18)

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf How the heart feels a languid grief Laid on it for a covering, And how sleep seems a goodly thing In Autumn at the fall of the leaf Autumn is the season for sadness because life change from green to yellow and the human soul as well. The poem expresses the deep human feelings of sadness and grief. the poet connects the bareness of autumn with death. It is a gloomy picture but it is truth about life.
I have always found Autumn to be the hardest season in which to say goodbyes...Like the shift from greens to crisp crimson, the change comes too quickly....A beautiful poem herein.
fall of the leaf, meaningful.
Poet beautifully described the autumn in terms of death Autumn is a symbol for death and the leaves that fall freely with no force need..similarly the grief , languid grief.... this poem sled towards the Keats Melancholy Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf How the heart feels a languid griefKnow'st thou not at the fall of the leaf How the soul feels like a dried sheaf Bound up at length for harvesting, And how death seems a comely thing In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?
Poet beautifully described the autumn in terms of death Autumn is a symbol for death and the leaves that fall freely with no force need..similarly the grief , languid grief.... this poem sled towards the Keats Melancholy Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf How the heart feels a languid griefKnow'st thou not at the fall of the leaf How the soul feels like a dried sheaf Bound up at length for harvesting, And how death seems a comely thing In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?
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