 | Poems at Home and Abroad |  |
53
September at the Lakes
In the Vale of St John.
Green are the meads, as fresh from April showers,
The scarlet creeper by the cottage door
Gives now its ebon fruit, and on the moor
The bee can tell how fast the honey hours
Fail with their purple glory: still the flowers,
Harebell and knapweed, braver to endure
The frosty dew beside the silver Bure,
Bloom on, and shine the rowan's crimson bowers.
The scarlet creeper by the cottage door
Gives now its ebon fruit, and on the moor
The bee can tell how fast the honey hours
Fail with their purple glory: still the flowers,
Harebell and knapweed, braver to endure
The frosty dew beside the silver Bure,
Bloom on, and shine the rowan's crimson bowers.
Now smiles the plain, alternate green and gold,
The oats are housed, the farmer's hind may rest,
While as September's haze comes up the vale,
And gossamers float down and gleam and sail,
He feels grey Skiddaw's unlaborious breast,
And dreamy Derwent's arm his life enfold.
The oats are housed, the farmer's hind may rest,
While as September's haze comes up the vale,
And gossamers float down and gleam and sail,
He feels grey Skiddaw's unlaborious breast,
And dreamy Derwent's arm his life enfold.
| Poems at Home and Abroad | |