Poetry Archives

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.