autumn

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is when the vineyard's ruby treasures brighten her soberer time.

Every season hath its pleasures: / Spring may boast her flowery prime, / Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures / Brighten Autumn's soberer time. / So life's year begins and closes... / Days, though shortening, still can shine... / What, though youth gave loves and roses, / Age still leaves us friends and wine. /

is a sober time brightened by the vineyard’s ruby treasures.

Every season hath its pleasures; Spring may boast her flowery prime, Yet the vineyard's ruby treasures Brighten Autumn's sob‘rer time.

is a waste of wearisome hours, Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns. And. the heart, that is soonest awake to the flowers. is always the first to be touch’d by the thorns.

Life is a waste of wearisome hours, Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns. And. the heart, that is soonest awake to the flowers. Is always the first to be touch’d by the thorns.

Thomas Moore

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Thomas Moore