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