I am the autumnal sun in  General   

Sometimes a mortal feels in himself Nature
-- not his Father but his Mother stirs
within him, and he becomes immortal with her
immortality. From time to time she claims
kindredship with us, and some globule
from her veins steals up into our own.

I am the autumnal sun,
With autumn gales my race is run;
When will the hazel put forth its flowers,
Or the grape ripen under my bowers?
When will the harvest or the hunter's moon
Turn my midnight into mid-noon?
I am all sere and yellow,
And to my core mellow.
The mast is dropping within my woods,
The winter is lurking within my moods,
And the rustling of the withered leaf
Is the constant music of my grief....

By Henry David Thoreau

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Other poems by Henry David Thoreau:

• Conscience
• Epitaph On The World
• Friendship
• I am the autumnal sun
• I Knew A Man By Sight
• Indeed, indeed, I cannot tell
• Inspiration
• Let such pure hate still underprop
• Low-Anchored Cloud
• My life has been the poem
• Pray to What Earth
• Prayer
• Rumors from an Aeolian Harp
• Sic Vita
• Smoke
• The Inward Morning
• The Summer Rain
• They Who Prepare my Evening Meal Below
• Within the Circuit of This Plodding Life