Amy Lowell

Autumn and Death

Personification as sisters

Lowell gives Autumn and Death kinship, not opposition. They work together with patience and precision, not as enemies. This reframes death not as a violation but as a natural completion.

They are coy, these sisters, Autumn and Death,
And they both have learnt what it is to wait.
Not a leaf is jarred by their cautious breath,
The little feather-weight
Petals of climbing convolvulus
Are scarcely even tremulous.
Who hears Autumn moving down
The garden-paths? Who marks her head
Above the oat-sheaves? A leaf gone brown
On the ash, and a maple-leaf turned red—
Yet a rose that's freshly blown

Sensory misdirection

The rose's beauty actively blinds the observer to seasonal change. Lowell shows how aesthetic pleasure functions as distraction from mortality—we don't see what we don't want to see.

Seals your eyes to the change in these,
For it's mostly green about the trees.

Death personified gently

Silver slippers and cool hands suggest refinement, not horror. The 'tempered heat' is paradoxical—Death brings comfort through balance. Notice she doesn't speak; her presence is enough.

And Death with her silver-slippered feet,
Do you hear her walk by your garden-chair?
The cool of her hand makes a tempered heat,
That's all, and the shadow of her hair
Is curiously sweet.
Does she speak? If so, you have not heard;
The whisper of Death is without a word.
The sisters, Autumn and Death, with strange
Long silences, they bide their time,
Nor ever step beyond the range

Pantomime constraint

Both sisters operate within strict limits—they don't transgress their 'allotted' roles. This suggests death and decay follow natural law, not chaos. The theatrical metaphor keeps them contained.

Allotted to a pantomime.
But the soundless hours chime,
One after one, and their faces grow
To an altered likeness, slow—slow.
Grim is the face which Autumn turns
To a sky all bare of obscuring leaves,
And her hair is red as a torch where it burns
In the dry hearts of the oaten sheaves.

Desire and predation

Death's face 'yearns / With a gaunt desire upon its prey'—she's hungry, not merciful. This is the poem's only moment of genuine threat, suggesting Death's gentleness masks appetite.

But Death has a face which yearns
With a gaunt desire upon its prey,
And Death's dark face hides yesterday.
Then Autumn holds her hands to touch
Death's hands, and the two kiss, cheek by cheek,
And one smiles to the other, and the smiles say much,

Silent communication

The sisters' kiss and smiles require no words. Their understanding is complete without language. This echoes the earlier 'whisper of Death is without a word'—death operates outside human speech.

And neither one has need to speak.
Two gray old sisters, such
Are Autumn and Death when their tasks are done,
And their world is a world where a blackened sun

Blackened sun and ice

The final image is desolate: ebony sun, shadeless ice, no wind. This is the world after Autumn and Death complete their work. All color, warmth, and movement are gone—the poem ends in absolute stasis.

Shines like ebony over the floes
Of a shadeless ice, and no wind blows.
They are coy, these sisters, Autumn and Death,

Personification as sisters

Lowell gives Autumn and Death kinship, not opposition. They work together with patience and precision, not as enemies. This reframes death not as a violation but as a natural completion.

And they both have learnt what it is to wait.
Not a leaf is jarred by their cautious breath,
The little feather-weight
Petals of climbing convolvulus
Are scarcely even tremulous.
Who hears Autumn moving down
The garden-paths? Who marks her head
Above the oat-sheaves? A leaf gone brown
On the ash, and a maple-leaf turned red—

Sensory misdirection

The rose's beauty actively blinds the observer to seasonal change. Lowell shows how aesthetic pleasure functions as distraction from mortality—we don't see what we don't want to see.

Yet a rose that's freshly blown
Seals your eyes to the change in these,
For it's mostly green about the trees.
And Death with her silver-slippered feet,

Death personified gently

Silver slippers and cool hands suggest refinement, not horror. The 'tempered heat' is paradoxical—Death brings comfort through balance. Notice she doesn't speak; her presence is enough.

Do you hear her walk by your garden-chair?
The cool of her hand makes a tempered heat,
That's all, and the shadow of her hair
Is curiously sweet.
Does she speak? If so, you have not heard;
The whisper of Death is without a word.
The sisters, Autumn and Death, with strange
Long silences, they bide their time,

Pantomime constraint

Both sisters operate within strict limits—they don't transgress their 'allotted' roles. This suggests death and decay follow natural law, not chaos. The theatrical metaphor keeps them contained.

Nor ever step beyond the range
Allotted to a pantomime.
But the soundless hours chime,
One after one, and their faces grow
To an altered likeness, slow—slow.
Grim is the face which Autumn turns
To a sky all bare of obscuring leaves,
And her hair is red as a torch where it burns
In the dry hearts of the oaten sheaves.
But Death has a face which yearns

Desire and predation

Death's face 'yearns / With a gaunt desire upon its prey'—she's hungry, not merciful. This is the poem's only moment of genuine threat, suggesting Death's gentleness masks appetite.

With a gaunt desire upon its prey,
And Death's dark face hides yesterday.
Then Autumn holds her hands to touch
Death's hands, and the two kiss, cheek by cheek,

Silent communication

The sisters' kiss and smiles require no words. Their understanding is complete without language. This echoes the earlier 'whisper of Death is without a word'—death operates outside human speech.

And one smiles to the other, and the smiles say much,
And neither one has need to speak.
Two gray old sisters, such
Are Autumn and Death when their tasks are done,
And their world is a world where a blackened sun
Shines like ebony over the floes

Blackened sun and ice

The final image is desolate: ebony sun, shadeless ice, no wind. This is the world after Autumn and Death complete their work. All color, warmth, and movement are gone—the poem ends in absolute stasis.

Of a shadeless ice, and no wind blows.
Source Wikipedia Poetry Foundation

Reading Notes

Why Death isn't frightening

Lowell's strategy is to make death intimate and inevitable by pairing it with autumn. Both are seasonal, cyclical, and necessary. Death arrives with 'silver-slippered feet' and 'cool hands'—refinement, not violence. She whispers without words, moves without sound, and her presence brings 'tempered heat' rather than cold shock.

The poem's central move is defamiliarization through gentleness. By removing all the Gothic horror typically associated with death, Lowell reveals what remains: the simple fact of transformation. The sisters work in 'long silences' and 'pantomime'—they don't announce themselves or demand acknowledgment. They simply wait, and we fail to notice until it's too late. The rose that 'seals your eyes' to change is the poem's key insight: we don't fear death because we're distracted by beauty, not because death is gentle.

Structural repetition and inevitability

The poem repeats its opening stanza verbatim in the middle, then ends with a vision of aftermath. This structure mirrors the cycle it describes: Autumn and Death return, return again, and eventually complete their work. The repetition isn't ornamental—it's how the poem enacts the sisters' patient, cyclical nature.

Notice the language shifts in the final stanza. Before, the sisters were 'coy' and barely perceptible. Now their faces are 'grim' and show 'gaunt desire.' They kiss 'cheek by cheek,' and their 'tasks are done.' The poem moves from concealment to revelation, from whisper to action. By the end, there's no ambiguity: the world is 'blackened,' 'shadeless,' and still. Lowell uses repetition and escalation to show that death isn't sudden—it's a process we ignore until the final moment when we see it clearly.