Oh, flowers forgive me, I'm willful to-day,
Oh, take back the lesson you gave me I pray;
For I slept in the sunshine, I woke in the rain
And it banished forever my sorrow and pain.
September.
Oh, soon the forests all will boast
A crown of red and gold;
A purple haze will circle round
The mountains dim and old;
Afar the hills, now green and fair,
Their sombre robes will wear;
A mist-like veil will dim the sun
And linger on the air.
Already seems the earth half sad
The summer-child is dead;
And who can tell the dreams gone by,
The tales of life unsaid?
September is a glowing time;
A month of happy hours;
Yet in its crimson heart lies hid
The frost that kills the flowers.
Life, too, may feel the glory near
And wear its crown of gold;
Yet are the snows not nearest then?
Are hearts not growing old?
September is the prime of life,
The glory of the year;
Yet when the leaves begin to fall
The winter must be near.
October.
I would not ask thee back, fair May,
With all your bright-eyed flowers;
Nor would I welcome April days
With all their laughing showers;
For each bright season of the year
Can claim its own sweet pleasures;
And we must take them as they come—
These gladly-given treasures.
There's music in the rain that falls
In bright October weather;
And we must learn to love them both—
The sun and rain together.
A mist is 'round the mountain-tops
Of gold-encircled splendor;
A dreamy spell is in the air
Of beauty sad and tender.
The winter hath not wooed her yet,
This fair October maiden;
And she is free to wander still
With fruits and flowers laden.
She shakes the dew-drops from her hair
In one swift, golden shower;
And all the woods are filled with light
That gilds each autumn flower.
But soon the frost-king's icy breath
Will chill her laughing beauty;
And she will waken in the dusk
Unto a sterner duty.
Ah! life is full of days like these,
Of days too bright to perish;
Yet death, like winter, claims too oft
The things we most would cherish.