X 

 SEPTEMBER 



* All tendrils green of every form and hue, 

 Together intertwined and trammell'd fresh : 

 The vine of glossy sprout ; the ivy mesh, 

 Shading its Ethiop berries ; and woodbine, 

 Of velvet leaves and bugle-blooms divine ; 

 Convolvus in streaked vases flush ; 

 The creeper, mellowing for an autumn blush, 

 And virgin's bower, trailing airily ; 



3. Keats. 



SEPTEMBER i. The soft triumph of the 

 Sumach is over. According to the su- 

 preme beauty of her prime, is now her 

 forlorn and wretched ruin. All in a day, 

 so it seemed, the feathery fluff began to 

 crisp and loosen. One night the west 

 wind blew in his strength, and left our 

 Wig tree well-nigh bald. The marabout 

 plumes, blown hither and thither, ac- 

 cumulated in angles of the house, and 



