September

SEPTEMBER comes across the hills
Her blue veil softly flowing,
Her flagons deep of wine she spills,
And sets the old world glowing.

Yon robin’s piping her a tune—
How runs his carol tender?
“I knew you once as pretty June,
When you were young and slender.

And though you’ve grown a gracious thing,
Full-blossomed, grand and stately,
I still can see a hint of spring—
Your youth’s but left you lately.”