September

Quite often as I ride the lawn tractor this time of year, these few lines run through my head. "The goldenrod is yellow The corn is turning brown The gentian's lovely fringes Hang halfway to the ground" ...and then that's all I can ever remember of the old poem, "September," from country school days. I used to wonder how/where I could find it, but hey, now that we're in the internet age, certainly I can find it online. Sure enough; after a few dead ends, Google led me to it. Turns out I didn't have those lines quite right, but not too bad. Here it is... for your autumn reading enjoyment. 

 September 

 

THE golden-rod is yellow; 

 The corn is turning brown; 

 The trees in apple orchards 

 With fruit are bending down. 

 

The gentian's bluest fringes 

 Are curling in the sun; 

 In dusty pods the milkweed 

 Its hidden silk has spun. 

 

The sedges flaunt their harvest, 

 In every meadow nook; 

 And asters by the brook-side 

 Make asters in the brook, 

 From dewy lanes at morning 

 The grapes' sweet odors rise; 

 At noon the roads all flutter 

 With yellow butterflies. 

 By all these lovely tokens 

 September days are here, 

 With summer's best of weather, 

 And autumn's best of cheer. 

 But none of all this beauty 

 Which floods the earth and air 

 Is unto me the secret 

 Which makes September fair. 

 'T is a thing which I remember; 

 To name it thrills me yet: 

 One day of one September I never can forget. 

 

- Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885)