September Days by Helen L. Smith

September Days
by Helen L. Smith

O month of fairer, rarer days

Than Summer's best have been;

When skies at noon are burnished blue,

And winds at evening keen;

When tangled, tardy-blooming things

From wild waste places peer,

And drooping golden grain-heads tell

That harvest-time is near.

Though Autumn tints amid the green

Are gleaming, here and there,

And spicy Autumn odors float

Like incense on the air,

And sounds we mark as Autumn's own

Her nearing steps betray,

In gracious mood she seems to stand

And bid the Summer stay.

Though 'neath the trees, with fallen leaves

The sward be lightly strown,

And nests deserted tell the tale

Of summer bird-folk flown;

Though white with frost the lowlands lie

When lifts the morning haze,

Still there's a charm in every hour

Of sweet September days.