feel the season's dreamy call
In hawkbit, asters, 'pyeweed tall,—
Glory of August ere September
Trumpet the note of the hasting fall.
A flash in crystal waters cold—
O dream in silver, red, and gold—
The speckled trout above the gravel
Lies by the rock where the stream is rolled!
Grasshoppers chirp and crickets chir,
The rich-tagged alders nod and pur,
The kine bells drowse the distant pasture,—
All nature waits for the coming stir.
his golden-browed September land
Is rich of heart and free of hand;
Fresh from the mint of God, and taintless,
Are flung her guineas of gold, like sand.
Here where the road winds round the hill,
And down beside the tidal mill,
Marsh goldenrod and its plumed sister
Their spangled ore in a largess spill.
The Sabbath sabbatize, said He,—
This gold is sacred unto me,—
Rich gift of God unknown of mammon,
Kingdom of Heaven by the roadside, free!