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SEPTEMBER

Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885)

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Sept. 27, 2017

    • HE 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;
      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.
       
      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.
"September" is reprinted from Poems. Helen Jackson. Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1892.

 

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