L et May to others seem to be
I n Sense, the sweetest season;
S eptember! thou are best to me!
A nd best doth please my Reason.
B ut neither for their corn, nor wine;
E xtol I, those mild days of thine!
T hough corn and wine might praise thee;
H eaven gives thee honour more divine
A nd higher fortunes raise thee!
R enowned art thou, sweet Month! for this.