MY life's long radiant summer halts at last:
And lo! beside my pathway I behold
Pursuing Autumn glide: nor frost nor cold
Has heralded her presence, but a vast
Sweet calm that comes not till the year has passed
Its fevered solstice, and a tinge of gold
Subdues the vivid coloring of the bold
And passion-hued emotions. I will cast
My August days behind me with my May,
Nor strive to drag them into Autumn's place,
Nor swear I hope, when I do but remember.
Now violet and rose have had their day,
I'll pluck the soberer asters with good grace,
And call September nothing but September.
By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
The Century; a popular quarterly Volume 40, Issue 5 (Sept 1890).
|Back to Poem Index|