A beautiful autumn poem

This beautiful poem was shared by The Woodland Trust on their Facebook page and I wanted to share it with you :)

When the Trees Grow Bare on the High Hills 

When the trees grow bare on the high hills, 

And through still glistening days 

The wrinkled sun-memoried leaves fall down 

From black tall branches 

Through the gleaming air, 

And wonder is lost, 

Dissolving in space, 

My heart grows light like the bare branches, 

And thoughts which through long months 

Have lain like lead upon my breast, 

Heavy, slow-ripening thoughts, 

Grow light and sere, 

And fall at last, so empty and so beautiful.

And I become 

Mere memory, mere fume 

Of my own strife, my loud wave-crested clamour, 

An echo caught 

From the mid-sea 

On a still mountain-side. 

The leaves fall faster, 

Like a slow unreturning fountain of red gold. 

The billow of summer breaks at last 

In far-heard whispering. 

And in mere memory, mere dream, 

Attainment breathes itself out, 

Perfect and cold.

Edwin Muir

(15th May 1887 - 3rd January 1959)