Autumn.
Avenue of trees leading to a focal point in the middle-left corner of the illustration.
There is a black
bird in the bottom right corner. Full-page illustration containing the poem with curved
top edges.
I love the season when the first rude breeze1
Of Autumn shakes the foliage from the trees,2
And mists that rise at morning damp and cold,3
Float in light clouds at even fringed with gold.4
The eye can longer rest on scene like this,5
Than that which tells of more unsullied bliss ;6
And as we gaze, it brings the thought how sin,7
Ushered the morn of our existence in8
With cheerless sky, till Christ at evening came,9
Sinking his blessed beams beneath our shame,10
Then on our darkness broke a golden flood11
Of light, and every cloud was tipp’d with blood.12