Isaac Levitan
"Golden Autumn", 1895

The kiss of autumn's languid grace
Blazed through the woods like crimson flame,
And songs of streams with crystal trace
Sounded hushed, as if weary became.

Dry leaves fell from the trees—now pale, now red—
Mourning softly o'er the ground
Beneath the mist where dewdrops spread
In silence, all around.

The distant sun, in radiant dream,
Mused on abundance yet to be,
And kissed the earth’s own gentle gleam
In sweet surrender, weak and free.

And in the evenings, skies would glow
With robes of deep, blood-red delight,
While Hope’s blue doves, stained by woe,
Wept tears that burned into the night.

Soaring in beauty vast and still,
They drew hearts toward distant spheres,
And high above, against the chill,
Wove garlands of ethereal lilies fair.

That autumn full of burning song,
Like a wife with fruit-laden years,
Like Eve—the mother we belong—
Awakened life through joy and tears.

Nikolai Gumilev, "Autumn Song"

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