All the brilliant bloom, of the summer days,
These lovely flowers restore;
And my childhood’s home, with its fields and flowers,
Comes back to me once more.
How fragile and fair!—some pale, some blushing,
All breathing rarest perfume—
But brighter and fairer they seem, my friend,
Because from thee they come.
I know that this beauty is frail and brief—
That their fragrance and bloom must depart,
But like the mem’ry of thee, these flowers will live
Forever enshrined in my heart.
[October.]
Oh, days of the lovely October,
How dear thou art to me;
Words are weak, when my soul would speak,
In language taught by thee.
Not alone do thy glorious sunsets,
Nor thy trees of a thousand dyes,
But all touch my heart with thy sweet spell,
Oh, earth, and air, and skies.
In the gardens that shone with beauty,
The flowers have faded, I know,
And here, by my favorite pathway,
The roses no longer may blow.
But the leaves are burning with splendor,
And I’ll weave them in garlands bright,
As I did in the sweet days of childhood,
When my heart was aglow with delight.
I’ve ruby and sapphire, blended with gold,
And here’s an emerald green,
A parting gift, for my coronet,
From summer’s dying queen.
Oh, loveliest month of the year,
Too soon will thy glories depart,
But not the sweet faith thou’st wakened,
Within this worshiping heart.