September
by Helen Hunt Jackson
The goldenrod 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 dusky pods the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun. The sedges flaunt their harvest In every meadow-nook; And asters by the brookside Make asters in the brook. From dewy lanes at morning The grapes' sweet odors rise; At noon 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. |
