Related quotes: autumn's rustling leaves the gentle...

autumn's rustling leaves
the gentle ripple of springs
whispers of the wind

haiku by Marius Alexandru (2023)
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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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Autumn In the Wood

I will enter the quiet wood,
On the rustling leaves I will dance,
I will watch the Godhood,
I will prance to the autumn’s romance.

I will wear a colorful dress,
I will mix up myself with the leaves,
I will hear what wind says,
I will feel the tender breeze.

I will see a birch in gilding,
A maple in its nice crimson,
A spiders beautiful sewing
Created with Gods benison.

The Sun will play with the dewdrops,
The leaves will dance rock and roll.
Feeling desirable aromas of hops
The autumn will be a droll.

I will be fascinated by the autumn’s beauty
Where only peace and harmony are on duty.

poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Sonnet: The Wind

What shakes the trees so violently? ’Tis Wind;
What moves the clouds hither/ thither? ’Tis Wind;
What takes the tornado around? ’Tis Wind;
What brings the sandstorm on the earth? ’Tis Wind.

What makes the cool and gentle breeze? ’Tis Wind
What makes the boughs and leaves to dance? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the autumn leaves to fall? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the honey-bees to fly? ’Tis Wind.

What makes pollen reach in showers? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the dust to climb towers? ’Tis Wind;
What spreads the perfume of flowers? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the rain-clouds advance far? ’Tis Wind.

What makes the Wind to blow? ’Tis God;
What makes a Tempest stop? ’ Tis our Lord.

7-18-2001

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Winds that Whisper Hello

The clouds are high above,
Floating freely this way and that.
The wind is whispering through the trees,
Rustling the leaves to sing to me.

I feel the wind upon my face,
The voices landing upon my ears.
The gentle winds warm me
And suddenly changes to cool breezes.

Temperatures changes suddenly,
When the wind shifts unexpectedly.
To hear the wind is to know
That somehow, someway it is saying hello.

poem by Carolyn Marie Taylor
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Sta. Ana Wind

have you ever
send autumn leaves
falling
making a heap
of yellow and brown
and orange
on the ground?

in the same manner
i have not seen
the sta. ana wind
but you make me feel
as though
i am within
the softness of the wind

the falling of the leaves
so sweetly

i love it
when you set me free
finally

my hair
keeping some of the
sta. ana wind
my hands
letting go the
autumn leaves
in my mind

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Does The Wind Say?

What does the wind say i wonder
When it whispers to the trees?
How do the leaves feel
Tumbling along the breeze?
How do the birds feel
When the wind abashes them?
What does the wind say
When it goes by on a summers day?
How do the dandelions feel
When they travel through the breeze?
How does the grass feel
When the wind whispers 'please'?
Does it go without fear
When it whispers softly in your ear?
So, I ask you again
What does the wind say?

poem by Giuliana Carder
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To The Autumn Wind

O envious Autumn wind, to blow
From covert vale and woodland crest
The mellow leaves, just as they glow
Brightest and loveliest;
To strip the maples black and bare,
To rob the beeches' russet gold,
And make what was of late so fair
But rustling drift and dripping mould.

Yet if, as you have done with them,
With me you will but timely do,
I will no more your rage condemn,
But, rather, make my peace with you.
Let me not linger on, to know
The mournfulness of feelings lost,
But waft me, while as yet they glow,
Wise Autumn wind, from winter frost!

poem by Alfred Austin
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The Song of an Angel

Be still, and listen to the wind,
As it whispers through the leaves,
For the gentle song of angels,
Is blowing in the breeze.

A song that sings of little hands,
That did so many jobs,
Hands that now are gently clasped,
Within the grasp of God.

A song that sings of a little heart,
That always poured out love,
A heart that now is full of joy,
As God holds him up above.

A song that sings of little smiles,
That brightened many days,
Smiles that now warm the hearts,
Of angels on their way.

A song that sings of a little boy,
That always was a friend,
A little boy who's shown us all,
That God's love never ends.

Be still, and listen to the wind,
As it whispers through these leaves,
For the gentle song of an angel,
Is blowing in its breeze.

-In loving memory of Charles McMichael

poem by Jean Penner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Only On This Day...

For: J.L.

It was a cool, July, and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.

And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.

I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive? Snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?

An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn...Autumn...
Autumn, for this I know.

What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July for
Autumn is abound.

Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or has the sparrows lost their way?

Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.

Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.

Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.

poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Days Like This...Remind Me Of You