Showing posts with label Helen Hunt Jackson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Helen Hunt Jackson. Show all posts

Saturday, October 3, 2009

October's Bright Blue Weather

Jasper Francis Cropsey/Autumn on the Hudson


O suns and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather;

When loud the bumblebee makes haste,
Belated, thriftless vagrant,
And goldenrod is dying fast,
And lanes with grapes are fragrant;

When gentians roll their fingers tight
To save them for the morning,
And chestnuts fall from satin burrs
Without a sound of warning;

When on the ground red apples lie
In piles like jewels shining,
And redder still on old stone walls
Are leaves of woodbine twining;

When all the lovely wayside things
Their white-winged seeds are sowing,
And in the fields still green and fair,
Late aftermaths are growing;

When springs run low, and on the brooks,
In idle golden freighting,
Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush
Of woods, for winter waiting;

When comrades seek sweet country haunts,
By twos and twos together,
And count like misers, hour by hour,
October's bright blue weather.

O sun and skies and flowers of June,
Count all your boasts together,
Love loveth best of all the year
October's bright blue weather.
 



Helen Hunt Jackson

Monday, September 29, 2008

September

 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