In Autumn, Edmund Spenser's short poem, the season arrives as a living figure dressed all in yellow. He is laughing and glad, his arms laden with fruit, relieved that hunger has been banished at last. A wreath of mixed ears of corn crowns his head, and a sickle rests in his hand, ready to reap what the earth has yielded. The single stanza glows with abundance, gratitude and the quiet joy of harvest time.

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