SEPTEMBER

Come walk a mile with me —‘ Tis sweet September;

And quietly the clouds are gliding by,

And silent runs the brook that, you remember,

We pass'd last Spring — it now is dumb and dry,

And overhead, the first red leaf is falling,

And, underfoot, the flowers are fading fast,

While in the air I hear a strange, sad calling

That tells me Summer is forever past.

And yet how peaceful seems the face of Heaven,

How calm the earth is — Nature is at rest,

And all the hopes that unto Spring were given,

Folds Autumn now in silence to her breast;

The birds are singing, yet not half so sweetly

As when they sung their song at opening Spring,

And flowers are blooming, yet not so completely

As when the birds were first upon the wing;

And I am singing — but the fading glory

Of Autumn-time subdues my idle song,

For what is Autumn but the sweet sad story

Of leaves that fade and lives that last not long.