SEPTEMBER - by Helen Hunt Jackson
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The
golden-rod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.
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By all these
lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer's best of weather,
And autumn's best of cheer.
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The gentian's
bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.
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But none of
all this beauty
Which floods the earth and air
Is unto me the secret
Which makes September fair.
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The sedges
flaunt their harvest,
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brook-side
Make asters in the brook. |
'T is a thing
which I remember;
To name it thrills me yet:
One day of one September
I never can forget.
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From dewy
lanes at morning
The grapes' sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.
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Helen Hunt
Jackson, 1830 -1885, was an American poet and writer who became an activist for improved treatment of Native Americans by
the United States government. ~ * ~ |
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