The Voice of Autumn

The Voice of Autumn
by William Cullen Bryant

There comes, from yonder height,
A soft repining sound,
Where forest-leaves are bright,
And fall, like flakes of light,
To the ground.

It is the autumn breeze,
That, lightly floating on,
Just skims the weedy leas
Just stirs the glowing trees.
And it is gone.

He moans by sedgy brook,
And visits with a sigh,
The last pale flowers that look,
From out their sunny nook,
At the sky.

O'er shouting children flies
That light October wind,
And kissing cheeks and eyes,
He leaves their merry cries
Far behind.

And wanders on to make
That soft uneasy sound
By distant wood and lake,
Where distant fountains break
From the ground.