Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Seasonal changes, as it were, take place in history, when there is practically an almost universal death, a falling of the foliage of the tree of life. Such were the intervals between the ancient and mediaeval time, the mediaeval and the modern.
Walking through this life really is walking through fire.
The fire was followed by a period of grieving and then by an incredible lightness, freedom, and mobility.
It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men's hearts, as for that subtle something, that quality of air that emanation from old trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.
Time is the fire in which we burn.
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
When sparrows build and the leaves break forth, My old sorrow wakes and cries.
A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.
We seem wired to grieve with greenery. Allowing the dead to dissolve into the earth, to become part of the cycle of the seasons, has, for millennia, held the promise of cheating mortality.