John Drinkwater

September

Wind and the robin’s note to—day—
Have heard of autumn and betray
 
The green long reign of summer.
The rust is falling in the leaves,
September stands beside the sheaves,
 
The new, the happy comer.
 
Not sad my season of the red
And russet orchards gaily spread
 
From Cholesbury to Cooming,
Nor sad when twilit valley trees
Are ships becalmed on misty seas,
 
And beetles go abooming.
 
Now soon shall come the morning crowds
Of starlings, soon the coloured clouds
 
From oak and ash and willow,
And soon the thorn and briar shall be
Rich in their crimson livery,
 
In scarlet and in yellow.
 
Spring laughed and thrilled a million veins,
And summer shone above her rains
 
To fill September’s faring;
September talks as kings who know
The world’s way and superbly go
 
In robes of wisdom’s wearing.
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