Fragrant Quote for October 10th, 2012-Autumn's Sublime Beauty -Anonymous

"Like some richly illuminated manuscript of cloistered art, the wonder book of Nature is spreading out its autumn pages in all their wonted brilliancy of mingled coloring; every mountain is a swelling mound of jewelled lustre, and every vale of woodland a blending of rich rainbow tints, over which a bright sun-warmed haze is spread, just as the old missal painters used to canopy the heads of saints and apostles with a halo of golden light. The hoar-frost covers the meadows in the early morning, and lies in crisp, sparkling wreathes upon the fences and barn-roofs, while overhead, a sky of the deepest blue is beginning to soften under the sunshine. Not a leaf quivers, and the pale cottage smoke curls up in a straight, unwavering column through the frosty air, while cloudlets of mist rest lingeringly on the lake, or creep lazily up the hill-sides.
Autumn in North America
"There is exhilaration in the air, and a new life in the wind that comes careering from the northwest, bearing frost on its wings, and brightness to the autumn woods. The farmer is early afield, with his cheery call, as he guides his oxen to the late harvesting. The maize fields display their tent-like rows, with garniture of yellow pumpkins scattered between ; and the buckwheat patches, no longer yielding their " honied fragrance," are falling before the quick-swinging cradle, and lie like red spots upon the landscape. The orchards are brimming with rosy fruit, and the chestnut burs are showering down their treasures in the woods. Plenty seems to reign, and the fullness of the year has put its stamp of gladness upon all."

"A mellow richness on the clustered trees;
 And, from a beaker full of richest dyes,
Pouring new glory on the autumn woods,
 And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds;
 Morn, on the mountain, like a summer bird,
 Lifts up her purple wing; and in the vales
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate rover,
 Kisses the blushing leaves and stirs up life
Within the solemn woods of ash deep crimsoned,
 And silver beech, the maple yellow leaved—
Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down
By the wayside aweary. Through the trees
The golden robin moves; the purple finch,
That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds,
A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle
And pecks by the wych-hazel ; while aloft
 From cottage roofs the warbling bluebird sings."-Longfellow