A couple of poems from Anne Bradstreet about the beauty of autumn:

Contemplations (I and II)

I.
Some time now past in the autumnal tide,
When Phoebus wanted but one hour to bed,
The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride,
Were gilded o’er by his rich golden head;
Their leaves and fruits seemed painted, but was true,
Of green, of red, of yellow, mixèd hue;
Rapt were my senses at this delectable view.

II.
I wist not what to wish.  Yet sure, thought I,
If so much excellence abide below,
How excellent is He that dwells on high?
Whose power and beauty by His works we know!
Sure He is goodness, wisdom, glory, light,
That hath this under-world so richly dight.
More heaven than earth was here, no winter and no night.

Note: Phoebus–another name for the Greek god Helios, or the sun.
dight–adorned or dressed.