The night-wind rustled through the boughs, rocking the flowers to sleep; the wild birds sang their evening hymns, and all within the wood grew calm and still; paler and paler grew the purple light, lower and lower drooped little Annie's head, the tall ferns bent to shield her from the dew, the whispering pines sang a soft lullaby; and when the Autumn moon rose up, her silver light shone on the child, where, pillowed on green moss, she lay asleep amid the wood-flowers in the dim old forest.
Autumn flowers were dead and gone, yellow leaves lay rustling on the ground, bleak winds went whistling through the naked trees, and cold, white Winter snow fell softly down; yet now, when all without looked dark and dreary, on little Annie's breast the fairy flower bloomed more beautiful than ever.
You may never know what scarlet and crimson really are until you see them in their perfection on an October hillside, under the unfathomable blue of an autumn sky.
When Uncle Blair had finished his sketch the shafts of sunshine were turning crimson and growing more and more remote; the early autumn twilight was falling over the woods.
So we walked out of the woods into the autumn dusk.
In the autumn
Rebecca was often the old man's companion while he was digging potatoes or shelling beans, and now in the winter, when a younger man was driving the stage, she sometimes stayed with him while he did his evening milking.
Petersburg.] It was a clear, dry, frosty morning in autumn
. My mother could not restrain her tears, and I too felt depressed.
The autumn days went on, and Little Dorrit never came to the Marshalsea now and went away without seeing him.
They paused for a moment on the steps of the portico, looking at the fresh perspective of the street in the autumn morning sun's bright rays, and then went down.
gave golden fruit to every garden, but to the Giant's garden she gave none.
desire to succeed academically, her overbearing father, and her sometimes misguided attempts to make her own decisions while living away from home for the first time will likely resonate with readers, but the secret of Dickensen Academy, while fascinating, never quite lives up to the mounting tension that Grabowski aptly builds throughout the story.
"Aprils have never meant much to me, autumns
seem that season of beginning, spring." - Truman Capote