October / George Arnold

October

On hill and field October’s glories fade;
    O’er hill and field the blackbirds southward fly;
The brown leaves rustle down the forest glade,
Where naked branches make a fitful shade,
    And the last blooms of Autumn withered lie.

The berries on the hedgerow ripen well —
    Holly and cedar, burning-bush and brier;
The partridge drums in some half-hidden dell,
Where all the ground is gemmed with leaves that fell
    Last storm from the tall maple’s crown of fire.

The chirp of crickets and the hum of bees
    Come faintly up from marsh and meadow-land,
Where reeds and rushes whisper in the breeze,
And sunbeams slant between the moss-grown trees,
    Green on the grass and golden on the sand.

From many a tree whose tangled boughs are bare
    Lean the rich clusters of the clambering vine:
October’s mellow hazes dim the air
Along the uplands and the valley, where
    The distant steeples of the village shine.

Adown the brook the dead leaves whirling go;
    Above the brook the scarlet sumacs burn;
The lonely heron sounds his note of woe
In gloomy forest-swamps, where rankly grow
    The crimson cardinal and feathery fern.

Autumn is sad: a cold blue horizon
    Darkly encircles checkered fields and farms,
Where late the gold of ripening harvests shone;
But bearded grain and fragrant hay are gone,
    And Autumn mourns the loss of Summer’s charms.

Yet, though our Summers change and pass away —
    Though dies the beauty of the hill and plain —
Though warmth and color fade with every day —
Hope passes not, and something seems to say
    That all our hrightest joys shall come again.

And if the flowers we nurture with such care
    Must wither, though bedewed with many tears,
They shall arise in some diviner air,
To bloom again, more fragrant and more fair,
    And gladden us through all the coming years.

The sun sinks slowly toward the far-off west
    The breeze is freshening from the far-off shore:
So come, fair eve, and bring each weary breast
That sense of tranquil joy, of gentle rest,
    Felt in the happy Autumns gone before!

~~
George Arnold (1831-1865)
from Poems Grave and Gay, 1867

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

George Arnold biography

"October" read by Richard Mitchley. Courtesy Richard Mitchley - Topic.

An October Hush / Bliss Carman

An October Hush

The small red maple leaves, keen-scented, mute,
    Here fleck the stream, to grape-dark purple hushed:
More rich and lovelier than bloom or fruit
    Since honey-hearted snowy May-buds blushed.

Between the quick impulsive summer's heat
    And deep clear-eyed unhasting after-days,
Fall these few hours of warm ripe light, more sweet
    Than since those apple-pink new morns of May's.

~~
Bliss Carman (1861-1929), 1883
from Through the Year with the Poets, 1886

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

Bliss Carman biography

ForestWander Nature Photography, Fall Foliage Creek Leaves Stream, October 2009. 

CC BY-SA 3.0, Wikimedia Commons.

October / Madison Cawein

October

I oft have met her slowly wandering
    Beside a leafy stream, her locks blown wild,
Her cheeks a hectic flush, more fair than Spring,
    As if on her the sumach copse had smiled.
Or I have seen her sitting, tall and brown,—
    Her gentle eyes with foolish weeping dim,—
        Beneath a twisted oak from whose red leaves
She wound great drowsy wreaths and cast them down;
    The west-wind in her hair, that made it swim
        Far out behind, deep as the rustling sheaves.

Or in the hill-lands I have often seen
    The marvel of her passage; glimpses faint
Of glimmering woods that glanced the hills between,
    Like Indian faces, fierce with forest paint.
Or I have met her 'twixt two beechen hills,
    Within a dingled valley near a fall,
        Held in her nut-brown hand one cardinal flower;
Or wading dimly where the leaf-dammed rills
    Went babbling through the wildwood's arrased hall,
        Where burned the beech and maples glared their power.

Or I have met her by some ruined mill,
    Where trailed the crimson creeper, serpentine,
On fallen leaves that stirred and rustled chill,
    And watched her swinging in the wild-grape vine.
While Beauty, sad among the vales and mountains,
    More sad than death, or all that death can teach,
        Dreamed of decay and stretched appealing arms,
Where splashed the murmur of the forest's fountains;
    With all her loveliness did she beseech,
        And all the sorrow of her wildwood charms.

Once only in a hollow, girt with trees,
    A-dream amid wild asters filled with rain,
I glimpsed her cheeks red-berried by the breeze,
    In her dark eyes the night's sidereal stain.
And once upon an orchard's tangled path,
    Where all the golden-rod had turned to brown,
        Where russets rolled and leaves were sweet of breath,
I have beheld her 'mid her aftermath
    Of blossoms standing, in her gypsy gown,
          Within her gaze the deeps of life and death.

~~

Madison Cawein (1865-1914), 1887
from Kentucky Poems, 1903

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Madison Cawein biography

"October" read for LibriVox. Courtesy LibriVox Audiobooks.

Camaraderie of Leaves / JD Shirk

Camaraderie of Leaves

Leaves were falling
All afternoon
Holding on, letting go
In groups or one by one
Stirred by the autumn breeze
Red and yellow, brown and gold
Drifting just as slow, or
Spinning as they pleased
While time, who waits for none
Waited patiently for each

I walked alone
All afternoon
Holding on, letting go
Passing thoughts, one by one
Watching leaves in autumn breeze
Red and yellow, brown and gold
Walking just as slow, or
Stopping where I pleased
While time who waits for none
Waited patiently with me

~~
JD Shirk, 2023

JD Shirk Poetry

[All rights reserved - used with permission]

JD Shirk biography

Alexander Mueller, Autumn Whispers, 2015. CC BY 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.

October / Florence Earle Coates

October

        Sweet are the woodland notes
That gush melodious at morn from palpitating throats,
In anthems fresh as dew! Ay, they are sweet!
        But from that dim retreat
Where Evening muses through the pensive hours,
        There sometimes floats along
        A more appealing song.
So, love, thy voice breathes a diviner music in the chill
    Of autumn, when the glen is still
    And Flora's gold all tarnished on the hill.
Than in the time when merry May calls forth her bashful flowers.

~~
Florence Earle Coates (1850-1927)

from Poems, 1898 

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union] 

Florence Earle Coates biography 

"October" read by ravenotation for LibriVox. Courtesy The 16th Cavern.

2 October poems / Annette Wynne

                October

                Black and gold and red and brown,
                    Olive, pink, and blue,    
                What a riot of a gown —
                    What a medley hue!
                What a way to go about —
                    Crimson cloak and vest!
                October is a dancer
                    Dancing down the West.


I Love These Days

Child Playing in Leaves (courtesy

 Missouri State Archive), 1990.

Public domain, Wikimedia Commons.

I love these days when autumn leaves
    Are falling everywhere around,
And I can tread among the sheaves,
    And hear the crispy, crunchy sound.

I leave my dolly safe at home,
    And climb the old gray orchard wall;
The squirrels spy me where I roam,
    And scamper to the treetops tall.

And O, it is a pleasant thing
    To listen for the happy sound,
Each little leaflet tries to sing,
    That rustles softly to the ground.

And so I spend the afternoon,
    And watch the leaves go floating by
Till Mother comes to say that soon
    The dark will come into the sky.

I know when stars are overhead,
    The leaves all gather in a heap,
And while I lie quite warm in bed,
    They snuggle close and go to sleep.

~~
Annette Wynne (1889-1952)

from For Days and Days: A year-round treasury of child verse, 1919

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

[November]

Annette Wynne biography

Red October / Helen Gray Cone

Red October

Red October, and the slow leaf sailing;
All the maples flaring scarlet splendor,
All the dogwoods glowing crimson glory,
All the oak-leaves bronze, the beech-leaves golden:

Blue, ah blue! the reaches of the river,
Blue the sky above the russet mountain,
Blue the creek among the tawny marshes,
Blue the tart wild-grape beside the hill-road:

At our feet the burnished chestnut shining;
Scent of autumn, and the brown leaves’ rustle;
Cloudy clematis among the brambles,
Orange bittersweet along the wayside.

Days too-perfect, priceless for their passing,
Colored with the light of evanescence,
Fragrant with the breath of frailest beauty —
Days ineffable of red October!

~~
Helen Gray Cone (1859-1934)
from The Coat without a Seam, and other poems, 1919

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Helen Gray Cone biography

"Red October" read by The Reader Reads.