Part I.
For an Autumn Day.
September.
By Elizabeth A. Davis.
(Recitation for a pupil in the grammar grade.)
A fresher green is on the grass,
The shadows all are gold,
But yet we see so plain—alas!
The year is growing old.
We stretch our hands as if to stay
The time so sadly sweet;
And pluck a single yellowing spray
From ’neath the flying feet.
A voice is in the swaying trees,
Like some forgotten dream,
So full of slumbering memories
The golden moments seem.
O, for some hidden magic spell
The perfect time to hold!
With trembling lips we say “Farewell”—
September’s days are told.
The Autumn Moon.
{{C|(Recitation for the grammar grade.)
O, fair is Spring, her welcome wing
Brings us the healthful breeze;
And hearts rejoice as her glad voice
Swells thro’ the forest trees.
