 | Songs of two centuries |  |
34
IN SEPTEMBER.
The Summer seems pausing a moment for rest,
In September;
The Autumn is watching her out of the west,
And soon he will come in his fire-dappled vest.
But how like a mourner the forests will wail,
And how on the meadows will rattle the hail,
In November!
In September;
The Autumn is watching her out of the west,
And soon he will come in his fire-dappled vest.
But how like a mourner the forests will wail,
And how on the meadows will rattle the hail,
In November!
With clusters of beauty the vines are aglow,
In September;
How sweetly and softly the zephyrs can blow,
How wed to the sunlight the streamlets that flow!
But all of a sudden a chill in the air
Creeps up like a spirit, and whispers “Prepare
For December!”
In September;
How sweetly and softly the zephyrs can blow,
How wed to the sunlight the streamlets that flow!
But all of a sudden a chill in the air
Creeps up like a spirit, and whispers “Prepare
For December!”
| Songs of two centuries | |