A Whirl-Blast from Behind The Hill
A Whirl-Blast from behind the hill
Rushed o'er the wood with startling sound;
Then--all at once the air was still,
And showers of hailstones pattered round.
Where leafless oaks towered high above,
I sat within an undergrove
Of tallest hollies, tall and green;
A fairer bower was never seen.
From year to year the spacious floor
With withered leaves is covered o'er,
And all the year the bower is green.
But see! where'er the hailstones drop
The withered leaves all skip and hop;
There's not a breeze--no breath of air--
Yet here, and there, and everywhere
Along the floor, beneath the shade
By those embowering hollies made,
The leaves in myriads jump and spring,
As if with pipes and music rare
Some Robin Good-fellow were there,
And all those leaves, in festive glee,
Were dancing to the minstrelsy.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Related quotes
New Year
WHITE year, white year,
Muffled soft in snow,
A diamond spray whose gems are gone
Before their grace we know,
A crystal-coated spray whose hours
Melt when looked upon,
Hoarfrost stars and hoarfrost flowers,
White year!
Green year, green year,
Sweet with sun and showers,
A windblown spray whose blossoms bright
Are the seven-colored hours,
A dancing spray whose leaves are days,
A spray whose leaves delight
In azure gleam and silver haze,
Green year!
New Year, new year
From rosy leaf to gold,
A shining spray on the Tree of Time
Where myriad sprays unfold,
A spray so fair that God may see
And gather it, bloom and rime,
To deck the doors of Eternity,
New Year!
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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The Way Of The Wood
WHERE baby oaks play in the breeze
Among wood-sorrel and fringed fern,
Through the green garments of the trees
The quivering shafts of sunlight burn,
And all along the wet green ride
The dripping hazel-boughs between,
The spotted orchis, stiff with pride,
Stands guard before the eglantine.
Sweet chestnuts droop their long, sharp leaves
By knotted tree roots, mossed and brown,
Round which the honeysuckle weaves
Its scented golden wild-wood crown.
O wood, last year you saw us meet,
For her your leaves and buds were gay,
Your moss spread velvet for her feet.
Your flowers upon her bosom lay.
This year you wear your raiment bright,
As fair as ever yet you wore.
And, none the less, the world's delight
Walks in your ways no more, no more.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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George Edmunds' Song
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around he here;
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
How like the hopes of childhood's day,
Thick clust'ring on the bough!
How like those hopes in their decay-
How faded are they now!
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here;
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
Wither'd leaves, wither'd leaves, that fly before the gale:
Withered leaves, withered leaves, ye tell a mournful tale,
Of love once true, and friends once kind,
And happy moments fled:
Dispersed by every breath of wind,
Forgotten, changed, or dead!
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here!
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
poem by Charles Dickens
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When Green Leaves Come again
WHEN green leaves come again, my love,
When green leaves come again,--
Why put on such a cloudy face,
When green leaves come again?
'Ah, this spring will be like the last,
Of promise false and vain;
And summer die in winter's arms
Ere green leaves come again.
'So slip the seasons--and our lives;
'T is idle to complain:
But yet I sigh, I scarce know why,
When green leaves come again.'
Nay, lift up thankful eyes, my sweet!
Count equal, lost and gain:
Because, as long as the world lasts,
Green leaves will come again.
For, sure as earth lives under snows,
And Love lives under pain,
'T is good to sing with everything,
'When green leaves come again.'
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Changes
Seasons may change, we stay the same.
We always stay the same.
We always stay the same.
Winter brings snow, when no, no flowers grow.
They wait for the spring.
Yes, they wait til the spring.
In the spring, young men grow.
til theyre old enough to know,
Better.
Better.
Leaves have turned green, now spring has been
And gone
Summers here.
The autumn trees swing to and fro.
Their leaves turn brown,
Now young men know
Better.
Better.
[just let me listen to that.]
Evryone one feels good
And I knew they would.
Its been quite a good year.
Its been quite a good year.
Its been quite a good year.
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Year Has Been/ My Year Of Leaves
THIS YEAR HAS BEEN/ MY YEAR OF LEAVES
This year has been
My year of leaves-
Gold and Yellow
Green and deep-
Beauty light
Beauty seen
Beauty in the world between
All I am
And Nature is
Whatever G-d simply gives.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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In The Shade Of The Green Wood
In the shade of the green wood
The holly does grow,
While in soft rays of sunlight
The wild roses glow,
And I smell their sweet perfume
That gently floats by,
Past trees strong and mighty
That reach to the sky,
The pathway of gold autumn
Leaves still remain,
As I walk through the green wood again.
In the shade of the green wood
This bright sunny morn,
That's so cool in the shadows
A new day is born,
All the birds in the treetops
Are singing for me,
Sweet songs of the summer
Which fill me with glee,
And know from its beauty
I never shall part,
For the green wood does live in my heart.
In the shade of the green wood
A soft gentle breeze,
Now caresses the branches
And whispers through trees,
A sound reassuring
Shall carry me to,
All the scenes that exist
In each marvellous view,
It's here that my spirit
Shall always now stay,
And the green wood is guiding my way.
poem by Andrew Blakemore
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New For Old
Bud blisters into life
Stretching for the light
Unfolding radiant green
Upturned palm to the sun
Life seeping in, breathing out
Green, Green so Green
Resurrected hope, so Green
Summer breeze stroking
Branches ebb and flow
Leaves so Green strong now
Fear not wind of change
Mellow summer turns
Green, green, green-yellow
Yellow area of dieing heart
Green lingers no more
Limp transparent yellow
Barely a breeze takes one
Fierce Hyde-like wind now
Cracking and ripping
Wind torn leaves fall
Life chords snapped
Death too early, still Green
Nourishment broken not ended
Seasons build up to tear down
To build up, to tear down
Leaves fall, Green leaves fall
And then some more
Until leaves are falling, falling
Trees and branches revealed
In the x-ray of autumn blast
Winter is coming
Winter is coming
Yellow pale yellow carpet
Beneath the naked tree
Yellow, mulchy brown
Once crisp leaves scatter
Green, yellow, transparent veins
Tired, half dead, leaves lose their grip
Join the autumn rain soaked mound
Providing new life to the roots
Old for new, New for Old
Seeds buried in death
Bring new life in Spring
In the end is the beginning.
poem by Adrian Wait
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Now Is Past
_Now_ is past--the happy _now_
When we together roved
Beneath the wildwood's oak-tree bough
And Nature said we loved.
Winter's blast
The _now_ since then has crept between,
And left us both apart.
Winters that withered all the green
Have froze the beating heart.
Now is past.
_Now_ is past since last we met
Beneath the hazel bough;
Before the evening sun was set
Her shadow stretched below.
Autumn's blast
Has stained and blighted every bough;
Wild strawberries like her lips
Have left the mosses green below,
Her bloom's upon the hips.
Now is past.
_Now_ is past, is changed agen,
The woods and fields are painted new.
Wild strawberries which both gathered then,
None know now where they grew.
The skys oercast.
Wood strawberries faded from wood sides,
Green leaves have all turned yellow;
No Adelaide walks the wood rides,
True love has no bed-fellow.
Now is past.
poem by John Clare
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Green Leaves and Sere
Three tall poplars beside the pool
Shiver and moan in the gusty blast,
The carded clouds are blown like wool,
And the yellowing leaves fly thick and fast.
The leaves, now driven before the blast,
Now flung by fits on the curdling pool,
Are tossed heaven-high and dropped at last
As if at the whim of a jabbering fool.
O leaves, once rustling green and cool!
Two met here where one moans aghast
With wild heart heaving towards the past:
Three tall poplars beside the pool.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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The Rain
I hear leaves drinking rain;
I hear rich leaves on top
Giving the poor beneath
Drop after drop;
'Tis a sweet noise to hear
These green leaves drinking near.
And when the Sun comes out,
After this Rain shall stop,
A wondrous Light will fill
Each dark, round drop;
I hope the Sun shines bright;
'Twill be a lovely sight.
poem by William Henry Davies
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In Sanctuary
THE young Spring air was strong like wine,
The sky reflected in your eyes
Was of a blue as deep-divine
As ever glowed in southern skies.
We passed from out the sunny lane
Into the green wood's shadowing;
And, sudden, all Love's words seemed vain
In that calm temple of the Spring.
Our god hears fair and tuneful words,
And splendid flowers his altars bear;
With choric song of leaves and birds,
Another god was worshipped there.
Silent, we passed the woodland, through
The coloured maze that Springtime weaves--
The light leaves dancing to the blue,
The sunlight dancing to the leaves;
I could not speak. I touched your hand
At the green arch that ends the wood:
'Ah--if she should not understand!'
Ah--if you had not understood!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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That Year's Autumn Leaves
Darling, do you remember that year’s autumn leaves?
Perhaps it was your aura, but they were the prettiest and keenest I’ve ever seen
Strolling through the park, hand in hand, the foliage crunched lightly under our feet
Such a simple, yet transcendent, treat
That year’s autumn leaves were red and gold
Thinking of them now strikes a pleasant, if somewhat melancholic, chord
The days you walked with me like the Lord
And you were
That year’s autumn leaves and you
Contentedness shared by us two
Harmonic Convergence bestowed on the lucky few
Peace of mind that I knew
Nat King Cole said it best: “Since you went away the days grow long…”
This is evidenced by many of my poems and songs
Many people, sometimes myself, think I should stop, that it’s wrong
The creative outlet, however, is too strong
That year’s autumn leaves were actually summer daze
I just love the original song, and now this unique turn of phrase
Both recall an almost alien phase
Mr. Mercer, I give you all the praise
That year’s autumn leaves were you
They may not have existed, but it’s a metaphor any romantic would die for
I would
Would you?
That year’s autumn leaves were the best autumn has ever produced
At least until we walk in the park in the fall again…or whenever you choose
poem by Yoni Assis
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The Fallen Leaves
I.
WE stand among the fallen leaves,
Young children at our play,
And laugh to see the yellow things
Go rustling on their way:
Right merrily we hunt them down,
The autumn winds and we,
Nor pause to gaze where snow-drifts lie,
Or sunbeams gild the tree:
With dancing feet we leap along
Where wither'd boughs are strown;
Nor past nor future checks our song--
The present is our own.
II.
We stand among the fallen leaves
In youth's enchanted spring--
When Hope (who wearies at the last)
First spreads her eagle wing.
We tread with steps of conscious strength
Beneath the leafless trees,
And the colour kindles on our cheek
As blows the winter breeze;
While, gazing towards the cold grey sky,
Clouded with snow and rain,
We wish the old year all past by,
And the young spring come again.
III.
We stand among the fallen leaves
In manhood's haughty prime--
When first our pausing hearts begin
To love 'the olden time;'
And, as we gaze, we sigh to think
How many a year hath pass'd
Since 'neath those cold and faded trees
Our footsteps wander'd last;
And old companions--now perchance
Estranged, forgot, or dead--
Come round us, as those autumn leaves
Are crush'd beneath our tread.
IV.
We stand among the fallen leaves
In our own autumn day--
And, tott'ring on with feeble steps,
Pursue our cheerless way.
We look not back--too long ago
Hath all we loved been lost;
Nor forward--for we may not live
To see our new hope cross'd:
But on we go--the sun's faint beam
A feeble warmth imparts--
Childhood without its joy returns--
The present fills our hearts!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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The Green Bowl
This little bowl is like a mossy pool
In a Spring wood, where dogtooth violets grow
Nodding in chequered sunshine of the trees;
A quiet place, still, with the sound of birds,
Where, though unseen, is heard the endless song
And murmur of the never resting sea.
'T was winter, Roger, when you made this cup,
But coming Spring guided your eager hand
And round the edge you fashioned young green leaves,
A proper chalice made to hold the shy
And little flowers of the woods. And here
They will forget their sad uprooting, lost
In pleasure that this circle of bright leaves
Should be their setting; once more they will dream
They hear winds wandering through lofty trees
And see the sun smiling between the leaves.
poem by Amy Lowell
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[revised 11-19-09] Getting Through October and Beyond
What was it about October
That made us think
Spring would not be coming back?
The weather rattled at us,
Leaves fell,
Leaving us feeling
It's not going to get any better.
No amount of experience or
Logic will helped,
Spring last year didn't help,
When the shorter days of
Fall and Winter closed in.
Beyond October?
What was it about October
That assured us
Spring will be coming back?
The weather hinted of changes,
Leaves brave enough
To let go one by one,
Or be pushed in bunches by the wind
Took momentary flight, and
Abandoned their accustomed tree.
They made room for new buds
Provided cover for the soil and
Food for those below.
Lots of work to get ready
For Spring next year and to
Just get through Fall and Winter.
Then came November.
November brought
What October teased.
October warned us,
Rushed at us,
Then seemed to pull back
Like a gentle rolling surf.
On a rough November day
A wave rushed over our heads
Knocked us down and threatened
To pull us far out to sea.
As we floated
We saw the shore disappear.
No one will come to help.
They won't even know we're gone.
'I've got to get to December! '
We scream.
'New Year's Day! Easter!
May Day! MAY DAY! '
And we will
Even if we have no idea
Why or how
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Them Cool Green Leaves
Them cool green leaves
That comes around
When spring breezy breeze
Is again here found
And night becomes like day
With its reddish sky
When song birds sing and play
In the twilight high
Them cool green days
When a heart beat's found
With playing soft haze
To the earth all bound
And the dark night's stray
Has said its goodbye
When love is okay
And blue is our time's sky
Refrain
Just listen to the songs
That flow so smoothly on
The many sing-alongs
Those never from life are gone
Every tune that fills the air
With beautiful tender plays
And we together share
In many different ways
Them Cool Green Leaves
That comes around
When spring breezy breeze
Is again here found
And night becomes like day
With its reddish sky
When song birds sing and play
In the twilight high
Refrain
* Peter S. Quinn - Them Cool Green Leaves Free Mp3 Download
http: //peter-s-quinn-them-cool-green-leaves-mp3-downlo ad.kohit.net/_/319663
(There are over 50 different texts written on this poem, this one made now, as I was listening…[will be revised later on, perhaps] I hope you enjoy it; -)
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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My Walk IV: Autumn
Reds, browns, yellows and green
Amber, orange and gold
Halloween in Autumn seen
For us all, to behold
Crisp Autumn days
Leaves under foot crackle
Not long to stay
Hear some Ravens hackle.
Breath forming a small cloud
In the chill of the morn
A child's sharp intake loud
Happy faces never forlorn.
Sharp blue skies
So clear and clean
Birds on wing, to hibernation fly
Nature holding itself up to be seen
Winter soon to be calling
Holding within its bitter cold
As leaves continue falling
Another year gone, another year old.
poem by Robert Green
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November
Old November, sere and brown,
Clothes the country, haunts the town,
Sheds its cloak of withered leaves,
Brings its sighing, soughing breeze.
Prophet of the dying year,
Builder of its funeral bier,
Bring your message here to men;
Sound it forth that they may ken
What of Life and what of Death
Linger on your frosty breath.
Let men know to you are given
Days of thanks to God in heaven;
Thanks for things which we deem best,
Thanks, O God, for all the rest
That have taught us--(trouble, strife,
Bring thru Death a larger life)--
Death of our base self and fear--
(Even as the dying year,
Though through cold and frost, shall bring
Forth a new and glorious spring)--
Shall shed over us the sway
Of a new and brighter day,
With Hope, Faith and Love alway.
poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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The Swallows
From Jean Pierre Claris Florian
I love to see the swallows come
At my window twittering,
Bringing from their southern home
News of the approaching spring.
'Last year's nest,' they softly say,
'Last year's love again shall see;
Only faithful lovers may
Tell you of the coming glee.'
When the first fell touch of frost
Strips the wood of faded leaves,
Calling all their wingèd host,
The swallows meet above the eaves
'Come away, away,' they cry,
'Winter's snow is hastening;
True hearts winter comes not nigh,
They are ever in the spring.'
If by some unhappy fate,
Victim of a cruel mind,
One is parted from her mate
And within a cage confined,
Swiftly will the swallow die,
Pining for her lover's bower,
And her lover watching nigh
Dies beside her in an hour.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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