Today on my "I Say" blog ( http://me-talking.blog.co.uk/ ) I have posted my poem about Autumn, called "Empty But Full".
Here is Dante Rossetti's take on the same subject, although I feel that my version is a little more optimistic.
AUTUMN SONG
Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the heart feels a languid grief
Laid on it for a covering,
And how sleep seems a goodly thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?
And how the swift beat of the brain
Falters because it is in vain,
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf
Knowest thou not? and how the chief
Of joys seems--not to suffer pain?
Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
Bound up at length for harvesting,
And how death seems a comely thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
jollyweez
I suppose to feign depression in that era was the vogue. The poetry of his lady-wife was somewaht morbid too, although in one, she begs him not to grieve for her after death.
Edgar Allen Poe was another one.
Miserable lot, all between 1805-1829.