OCTOBER. 



September days were green and fair, 

 But sharp winds pierced the shining air, 

 That froze the dimples of the river, 

 And made the wayside blossom shiver. 



September's heart was winter-steeled ; 

 The frost lay white upon the field, 

 Day after day ; the northern blast 

 Withered the bracken as it passed. 



" The time of snow !" we said. Not yet ! 

 Flushed with suffusions of regret, 

 Out of the south October came, 

 Setting the forest's heart aflame. 



Summer returned with her, and still 

 She lingers with us : stream and hill 

 And wide fields waver like a dream 

 Through warm, soft mists and tender gleam. 



