October
A bold brunette she is, radiant with mirth,
Who comes a-tripping over corn-fields cropped;
Fruits and blown roses, from her full arms dropped,
Carpet her feet along the gladdened earth;
Around her brow glitters a careless crown
Of bronzed oak, and apple-leaves, and vine;
And russet-nuts and country berries twine
About her gleaming shoulders and loose gown.
Like grapes at vintage, where the ripe wine glows,
Glows so her sweet cheek, summer-touched but fair;
And, like grape-tendrils, all her wealth of hair,
Gold on a ground of brown, nods as she goes:
Grapes too, a-spirt, her brimming fingers bear,
A dainty winepress, pouring wet and warm
The crimson river over wrist and arm,
And on her lips — adding no crimson there!
Ah! golden autumn hours — fly not so fast!
Let the sweet Lady long with us delay;
The sunset makes the sun so wished-for, — stay!
Of three fair sisters — loveliest and the last!
But after laughter ever follows grief,
And Pleasure's sunshine brings its shadow Pain;
Even now begins the dreary time again.
The first dull patter of the first dead leaf.
~~
Edwin Arnold (1832-1904)
from Poems: National and non-oriental, 1906
[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]
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