And with the final poem found on my thankful banner, we bid adieu to the lovely poems of autumn, as winter is scheduled to arrive later today!  William Blake's To Autumn personifies autumn as a newborn, the offspring of summer.  The poet invites the season to recount the glories of its maternal summer--the lusty songs of fruits and flowers. But even though young, autumn's time is fleeting and as winter approaches the beautiful season of fruit and grape must prepare for the arrival of winter, fleeing over the bleak hills and out of sight. 

Oh Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain’d
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may’st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

“The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hand round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust’ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather’d clouds strew flowers round her head.

“The spirits of the air live in the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.”
Then rose, girded himself, and o’er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.

My garden sang this song all summer...while feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.

but oh, what a difference a few weeks can make, as autumn prepares to flee!

While I was putting these pictures together, taken in July and again in November, Robert Frost's poem My November Guest came to mind and seemed apropos...

My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
     Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
     She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
     She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted gray
     Is silver now with clinging mist.

 

The desolate, deserted trees,
     The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
     And vexes me for reason why.

 

Not yesterday I learned to know
     The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
     And they are better for her praise.

The very last rose of "summer"...November 2015

But even as autumn's breezes turn into wintry gales later this afternoon, I remain thankful for all my blessings!  And please remember...

Today is a good day for a good day!