  SEPTEMBER comes across the hills Her blue veil softly flowing, Her flagons deep of wine she spills, And sets the old world glowing. Yon robin’s piping her a tune— How runs his carol tender? “I knew you once as pretty June, When you were young and slender. And though you’ve grown a gracious thing, Full-blossomed, grand and stately, I still can see a hint of spring— Your youth’s but left you lately.” |
|
