THE Autumn leaves are falling, and poets heave a sigh, and say that Nature's calling on living things to die. A pensive melancholy Fall months to poets bring; but I am fat and jolly and gambol as I sing. I do not think of hearses when Autumn zephyrs wail, but write some cheer-up verses, and earn nine kinds of kale. The skies are dark and dreary, the rain begins to spout, but people should be cheery unless they have the gout. The wind is chill and snappy, the earth is dank and wet, but people should be happy, unless they are in debt. The wind will soon be piling big snowdrifts on the plain, but people should be smiling unless they are insane. I love all kinds of weather, I love the Autumn well, when we all sit together around the fire and yell, and keep the corn a-popping, each in his easy chair; the Autumn leaves are dropping—it's little that I care. The Autumn leaves are falling; I let the blamed things fall; my phonograph is squalling, "Dear Days Beyond Recall." There's firelight on the rafter, and kidlets on the floor, around me joy and laughter, and neighbors at the door. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BILL AND JOE by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES SONNET: DANTE (2) by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW KEEPING ENDLESS HOLIDAY by TITUS PETRONIUS NIGER THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SUMMER APPROACHES by MABEL WARREN ARNOLD TO A LADY, WITH SOME PAINTED FLOWERS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |