Wednesday, September 3, 2008


"By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer’s best of weather
And autumn’s best of cheer."
- Helen Hunt Jackson, September

"I will cast my August days behind me with my May,
Nor strive to drag them into Autumn's place,
Nor swear I hope when I do but remember.
Now violet and rose have had their day,
I'll pluck the soberer asters with good grace
And call September nothing but September."
- Ella Wheeler Wilcox, September

"The summer days are fading, as they must
From endless hours to short and fleeting light
The bird's once bright, immortal tune, now cries
A melancholy aura to the dusk
The children fiercely climb, and dream, and race
Before their wild and unchained days depart
And yet beneath the zeal lies a half heart
For there isn't time, there's only enough space
The sun seems low, a hazy orange sphere
Now reminiscing sweetly of the days
When endlessly before you summer lay
And as in the deep, crimson dusk you stir
Your soul joins with the birds in wistful brood
Crying for lost summer days, for childhood."
- Shannon Georgia Schaubroeck, The End of Summer

"Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.
The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, broken,
Tired with summer."
- Sarah Teasdale, September Midnights

"As Summer into Autumn slips
And yet we sooner say
"The Summer" than "the Autumn," lest
We turn the sun away,

And almost count it an Affront
The presence to concede
Of one however lovely, not
The one that we have loved --

So we evade the charge of Years
On one attempting shy
The Circumvention of the Shaft
Of Life's Declivity."
- Emily Dickinson, As Summer Into Autumn Slips

"I have come to a still, but not a deep center,
A point outside the glittering current;
My eyes stare at the bottom of a river,
At the irregular stones, iridescent sandgrains,
My mind moves in more than one place,
In a country half-land, half-water.
I am renewed by death, thought of my death,
The dry scent of a dying garden in September,
The wind fanning the ash of a low fire.
What I love is near at hand,
Always, in earth and air."
- Theodore Roethke, The Far Field


Quer uma xícara de chá? said...

Own, it is bealtiful. I rely enjoyed.

Chickenbells said...

Yeah...I thought the same thing about September and then I read my horoscope for the month and climbed back in bed...

Anet said...

I really enjoyed this post. I haven't posted poems in sooo long! I'm a big fan of Emily Dickinson!
Here's to Autumn!!! I'm looking forward to it:)

Keetha said...

Did you take the top picture? It is GORGEOUS!!! Where is it?

A Slice of the Pie said...

Great photos!

MAIZEE said...

What a very nice post, great poetry. I am so happy to see September arrive. Fall is my favorite season, no question. I must steal your first poem away to my blog ( of course giving you credit for finding it).

Grammie said...

Hi Molly....thank you so much for visiting my blog and leaving that sweet message!

I love your choice of poems to go with the pictures...! Fall doesn't hit Alabama for a while yet....still having temps in the high 80's! But, I do love it when it gets here...

Take care...and come back and visit soon.