Autumn
"Autumn" by John Clare paints a blazing, almost paradoxical season — not of cool decay but of scorching heat and shimmering gold. Thistledown drifts on windless air, springs boil, cracked earth resembles overbaked bread, and rivers run like liquid fire. Clare builds toward a breathtaking final image: hilltops glittering like hot iron and an air so charged with burning light that whoever looks around sees Eternity itself. It is a poem about a landscape so intensely alive it transcends the physical world.
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