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.

September / George Arnold

 
September

        Sweet is the voice that calls
        From the babbling waterfalls
In meadows where the downy seeds are flying;
        And soft the breezes blow,
        And eddying come and go,
In faded gardens where the rose is dying.

        Among the stubbled corn
        The blithe quail pipes at morn,
The merry partridge drums in hidden places,
        And glittering insects gleam
        Above the reedy stream
Where busy spiders spin their filmy laces.

        At eve, cool shadows fall
        Across the garden wall,
And on the clustered grapes to purple turning,
        And pearly vapors lie
        Along the eastern sky,
Where the broad harvest-moon is redly burning.

        Ah, soon on field and hill
        The wind shall whistle chill,
And patriarch swallows call their flocks together
        To fly from frost and snow,
        And seek for lands where blow
The fairer blossoms of a balmier weather.

        The pollen-dusted bees
        Search for the hone-lees
That linger in the last flowers of September,
        While plaintive mourning doves
        Coo sadly to their loves
Of the dead summer they so well remember.

        The cricket chirps all day,
        "O fairest summer, stay!”
The squirrel eyes askance the chestnuts browning;
        The wild fowl fly afar
        Above the foamy bar,
And hasten southward ere the skies are frowning.

        Now comes a fragrant breeze
        Through the dark cedar-trees
And round about my temples fondly lingers,
        In gentle playfulness,
        Like to the soft caress
Bestowed in happier days by loving fingers.

        Yet, though a sense of grief
        Comes with the falling leaf,
And memory makes the summer doubly pleasant,
        In all my autumn dreams
        A future summer gleams
Passing the fairest glories of the present!

~~
George Arnold (1831-1865)
from Drift: A seashore idyl; and other poems, 1866

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

George Arnold biography

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