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The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,Of waili

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sere.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit – William Cullen Bryant

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Seasons
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April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory out of desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in a forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers. – TS (Thomas Stearns) Eliot

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If spring betrays summer, would autumn never arrive? – Terri Guillemets

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Seasons

Summer is a promissory note signed in June, its long days spent and gone before you know it, and due to be repaid next January. – Hal Borland

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O suns and skies and clouds of June, and flowers of June together. Ye cannot rival for one hour Octobers bright blue weather. – Helen Hunt Jackson

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Action springs not from thought, but from a readiness for responsibility. – Dietrich Bonhoeffer

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