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ArtistAutumn comes laden with her ripened load Of fruitage and so scatters them abroad That each fern-smothered heath and mole-hill waste Are black with bramble berries--where in haste The chubby urchins from the village hie To feast them there, stained with the purple dye; While painted woods around my rambles be In draperies worthy of eternity. Yet will the leaves soon patter on the ground, And death's deaf voice awake at every sound: One drops--then others--and the last that fell Rings for those left behind their passing bell. Thus memory every where her tidings brings How sad death robs us of life's dearest things.
A large pile of ripe blackberries resting on a bed of dry brown leaves and vibrant green ferns on the forest floor, with a lush green forest of tall trees in the background under soft daylight.