Longfellow imagines autumn as a magnificent ruler processing across the land. Rain serves as his herald, and incessant winds fan banners brighter than Samarkand’s richest silks. Oxen pull a royal wagon while he stands like Charlemagne upon a golden bridge, his hand raised in benediction over the farms. The red harvest moon is suspended like a shield; farmers’ prayers are the footsteps attending him. Sheaves shine in the fields like altar flames, and the wind, acting as his almoner, scatters golden leaves in a splendid farewell. The whole scene hums with reverence and celebration, as if the earth itself is taking part in a sacred ritual of harvest. The speaker’s tone is one of deep admiration and gratitude, transforming a familiar season into something both imperial and tenderly generous. Reading it, you can almost feel the crisp air and hear the rustle of that golden largesse.
AUTUMN — Summary
Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, With banners, by great gales incessant fanned, Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand, And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain! Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne, Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand Outstretched with benedictions o'er the land, Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain! Thy shield is the red harvest moon, suspended So long beneath the heaven's o'er-hanging eaves; Thy steps are by the farmer's prayers attended; Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves; And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid, Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves!