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There he goes, in his long russet surtout, sweeping down yonder gr

There he goes, in his long russet surtout, sweeping down yonder gravel-walk, beneath the trees, like a yellow leaf in autumn wafted along by a fitful gust of wind. – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, of Monsieur d’Argentville

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Autumn
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Autumn is the eternal corrective. It is ripeness and color and a time of completion; but it is also breadth, and depth, and distance. What man can stand with Autumn on a hilltop and fail to see the span of his world and the substance of the rolling hills that reach to the far horizon? – Hal Borland

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Autumn

I cannot write of things which even impassioned breath cannot utter. Autumn is coming with its days of gold, its days of reverie and of you—oh, such delightful hours that my heart burns within me at the anticipation. – Byron Caldwell Smith, letter to Kate Stephens

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Autumn
[O]n hill and valley and stream, is lain the spell of silence; and the deep stillness of the air is unbroken… – Elizabeth J. Eames, “An Autumn Reverie,” October 1840

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Autumn

A beauty lights the fading year… – Phebe A. Holder, “A Song of October,” in The Queries Magazine, October 1890

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Autumn

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I am restless. I am athirst for faraway things. My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance. O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute! I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore. – Rabindranath Tagore

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Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most. – Benjamin Disraeli

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