October, by Helen Hunt Jackson


Bending above the spicy woods which blaze,

Arch skies so blue they flash, and hold the sun

Immeasurably far; the waters run

Too slow, so freighted are the river-ways

With gold of elms and birches from the maze

Of forests. Chestnuts, clicking one by one,

Escape from satin burs; her fringes done,

The gentian spreads them out in sunny days,

And, like late revelers at dawn, the chance

Of one sweet, mad, last hour, all things assail,

And conquering, flush and spin; while, to enhance

The spell, by sunset door, wrapped in a veil

Of red and purple mists, the summer, pale,

Steals back alone for one more song and dance.

– Helen Hunt Jackson


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