Poetry Sunday: September by Helen Hunt Jackson
The beginning of September means that the year is winding down. But wasn't it only yesterday that it was February? It must be true that the older we get the more time flies. This year has seemed but a brief moment. Now my yard is aflutter with the autumn's yellow sulphur butterflies and I wonder what happened on that day of one September that the poet never could forget... September by Helen Hunt Jackson The golden-rod 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 brook-side 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. But none of all thi