When the reaper lays the sickle by,

When the reaper lays the sickle by,
And taketh down the flail:
When all we prized, and all we planned,
Is ripe and stored at last,
And Autumn looks across the land,
And ponders on the Past.

poem by Alfred Austin
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My northern blood exults to face

My northern blood exults to face
The rapture of this rough embrace,
Glowing in every vein to feel
The cordial caress of steel
From spear-blue air and sword-blue sea,
Armour of England's liberty.

poem by Alfred Austin
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Know, Nature, like the cuckoo, laughs at law

`Know, Nature, like the cuckoo, laughs at law,
Placing her eggs in whatso nest she will;
And when, at callow-time, you think to find
The sparrow's stationary chirp, lo! bursts
Voyaging voice to glorify the Spring.'

poem by Alfred Austin
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Tis because, though in dusky bower

'Tis because, though in dusky bower,
With love delighted still thou art;
Nor hath the deepening twilight power
To lay a curfew on thy heart.
Thou lovest; and, loving, dost prolong
The sense of sunlight with thy song.

poem by Alfred Austin
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So long as faith with freedom reigns
And loyal hope survives,
And gracious charity remains
To leaven lowly lives;
While there is one untrodden tract
For intellect or will,
And men are free to think and act,
Life is worth living still.

quote by Alfred Austin
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Give me October's meditative haze

Give me October's meditative haze,
Its gossamer mornings, dewy-wimpled eves,
Dewy and fragrant, fragrant and secure,
The long slow sound of farmward-wending wains,
When homely Love sups quiet 'mid his sheaves,
Sups 'mid his sheaves, his sickle at his side,
And all is peace, peace and plump fruitfulness.

poem by Alfred Austin
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Covet who will the patronage of Kings

`Covet who will the patronage of Kings,
And pompous titles Emperors bestow,
Splendour, and revelry, and all that brings
A thousand bitter thoughts, a world of woe:
A meadow glistening in an April shower,
A green-banked rivulet, and, near his nest,
A blackbird carolling in guelder bower,
'Tis these that soothe and satisfy the breast.'

poem by Alfred Austin
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The smiling slopes with olive groves bedecked

`The smiling slopes with olive groves bedecked,
Now darkly green, now, as the breeze did stir,
Spectral and white, as though the air were flecked
With elfin branches laced with gossamer;

And then so faint, the eye could scarce detect
Which the gray hillside, which the foliage fair;
Until once more it dense and sombre grew,
To shift again just as the zephyr blew.

poem by Alfred Austin
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Song

Go talk to her, sweet flower,
To whom I fain would talk
Tell her I hour by hour
Pine on my own poor stalk.

Tell her that I should live
Not quite so sore distressed,
If she to you would give
A throne upon her breast.

Tell her that should she hie
To my parched plot to see
If I be dead, that I
No more should withered be.

If I were dead, her feet
My spirit would revive,
As may her bosom sweet
Keep you, sweet flower, alive.

poem by Alfred Austin
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Sadder than lark when lowering

Sadder than lark when lowering
Clouds defend the sky;
Sadder than wild swan pouring
Death-notes ere it die;
Sadder than winds imploring
Shelter when storms are high,-
Couldst thou be less than adoring,
More sad were I.

Happy as streamlet flowing
'Twixt banks of heathery peat;
Happy as murmur going
Through the inclining wheat;
Happy as mother glowing
Over her little one's feet,-
I am happy in knowing,
Thou'rt mine, my sweet!

poem by Alfred Austin
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