Autumn — Summary

In these four short lines, William Morris pictures autumn as a person, weighed down and utterly exhausted. The speaker—this “Laden Autumn”—stands before us, drained both emotionally and physically: “Worn of heart, and weak of hand.” It’s not just tiredness from a season’s work; it’s a bone-deep weariness that craves only one thing. Rest. The line “Nought but rest seems good to me” feels like a sigh, a quiet admission that nothing else has any appeal. Then comes the final plea, “Speak the word that sets me free,” which hovers between a wish for winter’s stillness and something more final—a longing for permission to let go altogether. The mood is deeply melancholy yet calm, like the last golden leaf hanging on, ready to drop. There’s no drama, just a soft, honest ache for peace.