Saturday, September 14, 2013

September

SEPTEMBER

 The golden-rod is yellow;
 The corn is turning brown;
 The trees in apple orchards
 With fruit are bending down.

 The gentian's bluest fringes 
 Are curling in the sun;
 In dusty pods the milkweed
 Its hidden silk has spun.

 The sedges flaunt their harvest,
 In every meadow nook; 
And asters by the brook-side
 Make asters in the brook.

 From dewy lanes at morning
 The grapes' sweet odors rise;
 the roads all flutter
 With yellow butterflies.

 By all these lovely tokens
 September days are here,
 With summer's best of weather,
 And autumn's best of cheer.

 But none of all this beauty
Which floods the earth and air
 Is unto me the secret 
Which makes September fair.

 'T is a thing which I remember;
 To name it thrills me yet:
 One day of one September
 I never can forget.

 by: Helen Hunt Jackson
 (1830-1885) 



 Marjolein Bastin



The morns are meeker than they were
The nuts are getting brown
The berry's cheek is plumper
The Rose is out of town

The Maple wears a gayer scarf
The field a scarlet gown
Lest I should be old fashioned
I'll put a trinket on .

Emily Dickenson



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