September / Helen L. Smith

September

O month of fairer, rarer days
    Than Summer's best have been;
When skies at noon are burnished blue,
    And winds at evening keen;
When tangled, tardy-blooming things
    From wild waste places peer,
And drooping golden grain-heads tell
    That harvest-time is near.

Though Autumn tints amid the green
    Are gleaming, here and there,
And spicy Autumn odors float
    Like incense on the air,
And sounds we mark as Autumn's own
    Her nearing steps betray,
In gracious mood she seems to stand
    And bid the Summer stay.

Though 'neath the trees, with fallen leaves
    The sward be lightly strown,
And nests deserted tell the tale
    Of summer bird-folk flown;
Though white with frost the lowlands lie
    When lifts the morning haze,
Still there's a charm in every hour
    Of sweet September days.

~~
Helen L. Smith

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]