The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown, The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down; The gentian’s bluest fringes Are curling in the sun; In dusty pods the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun; The sedges flaunt their harvest In every meadow nook, And asters by the brookside Make asters in the brook; From dewy lanes at morning The grapes’ sweet odors rise; At noon the roads all flutter With yellow butterflies— By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer’s best of weather And autumn’s best of cheer. — Helen Hunt Jackson
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Showing: 1 - 10 of 13 RESULTS
Verse
Poetry – The River Of Life
The more we live, more brief appear Our life’s succeeding stages: A day to childhood seems a year, And years like passing ages. The gladsome current of our youth Ere passion yet disorders, Steals lingering like a river smooth Along its grassy borders. But as the careworn cheek grows wan, And sorrow’s shafts fly thicker, Ye Stars, that measure life to man, Why seem your courses quicker? When joys have lost their bloom and breath And life itself is vapid, Why, as we reach the Falls of Death, Feel we its tide more rapid? It may be strange—yet who would …
Poetry – The Snow-Drop (Mower)
Sweet little unassuming flower,It stays not for an April shower,But dares to rear its tiny head,While threat’ning clouds the skies o’erspread. It ne’er displays the vain desireTo dress in flaunting gay attire;No purple, scarlet, blue, or gold,Deck its fair leaves when they unfold. Born on a cold and wintry night,Its flowing robes were snowy white;No vernal zephyrs fan its form—It often battles with the storm. It never drank mild summer’s dew,But chilling winds around it blew;And hoary frost his mantle spreadUpon the little snow-drop’s bed. I love this modest little flower;—It comes in desolation’s hourThe barren landscape’s face to cheer,When …
Twilight
Twilight it is, and the far woods are dim, and the rooks cry and call.Down in the valley the lamps, and the mist, and a star overall,Thereby the rick, where they thresh, is the drone at an end,Twilight it is, and I travel the road with my friend. I think of the friends who are dead, who were dear long ago in the past,Beautiful friends who are dead, though I know that death cannot last;Friends with the beautiful eyes that the dust has defiled,Beautiful souls who were gentle when I was a child. — John Masefield
Poetry – The Last Rose of Summer
‘Tis the last rose of summer Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone; No flower of her kindred, No rose-bud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh for sigh. I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one! To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them. Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o’er the bed Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from Love’s shining circle The gems drop away. When true hearts lie withered, And …
Poetry – Dandelion
There’s a dandy little fellow, Who dresses all in yellow, In yellow with an overcoat of green; With his hair all crisp and curly, In the springtime bright and early A-tripping o’er the meadow he is seen. Through all the bright June weather, Like a jolly little tramp, He wanders o’er the hillside, down the road; Around his yellow feather, Thy gypsy fireflies camp; His companions are the woodlark and the toad. But at last this little fellow Doffs his dainty coat of yellow, And very feebly totters o’er the green; For he very old is growing And with hair …
Poetry – My Heart’s In The Highlands
My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here; My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe. My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go. Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The birthplace of valor, the country of worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands forever I love. Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow; Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. My heart’s in the Highlands, my …
Poetry – Camomile Tea
Outside the sky is light with stars; There’s a hollow roaring from the sea. And, alas! for the little almond flowers, The wind is shaking the almond tree. How little I thought, a year ago, In that horrible cottage upon the Lee That he and I should be sitting so And sipping a cup of camomile tea. Light as feathers the witches fly, The horn of the moon is plain to see; By a firefly under a jonquil flower A goblin toasts a bumble-bee. We might be fifty, we might be five, So snug, so compact, so wise are we! …
Poetry – THE SNOWDROP (Tennyson )
Many, many welcomes, February fair-maid! Ever as of old time, Solitary firstling, Coming in the cold time, Prophet of the gay time, Prophet of the May time, Prophet of the roses, Many, many welcomes, February fair-maid! — Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Poetry – My Old Coat
BE ever true to me, thou well-loved coat,For we are growing old together now,These ten long years I’ve brushed thee every dayMyself; great Socrates the Sage, I trowHad not done better! And if remorseless FateGnaw with sharp tooth that poor, thin cloth of thine,Resist, say I, with calm philosophy,Let us not part, thou dear old friend of mine! How I recall—(for even now I’m bless’dWith a good memory!), that glad day of daysWhen first I wore thee! It was at my feast;My friends to crown my glory, sang thy praise.Thy poverty and age that honor meHave not yet made their …