Trees of brown and red and yellow Flaunt their beauty beneath the skies, Verdure far on distant hillsides The thoughts of Autumn belies.
One vivid splurge on a maple sapling Flashes vermilion surprisingly bright, Small but refulgent in sunset splendor It bursts upon our sight.
To some heart that is crushed with loss and fear Autumn has come though Summer is here.
Henrietta Clarke starts with a scene of color: trees in brown, red and yellow, with green still showing on far-off hills. The green seems to contradict the idea of autumn, yet the colors on the nearer trees say otherwise. The second stanza narrows to a single detail, a young maple whose bright red-orange leaves flash out in the sunset. It is small, but it catches the eye all the same.
Then the last two lines turn the poem. Everything so far has been about the weather and the landscape, but here "Autumn" becomes something felt rather than seen. Someone weighed down by loss and fear can experience autumn inside, even while summer surrounds them. The mood shifts from admiring to quietly sad. The poem suggests that the calendar and the heart don't always agree, and that outward beauty can sit right beside private grief without touching it.