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THE MONTHS:
And for the pall
You spread on earth in falling.
You spread on earth in falling.
And here's a song of flowers to suit such hours:
A song of the last lilies, the last flowers,
Amid my withering bowers.
A song of the last lilies, the last flowers,
Amid my withering bowers.
In the sunny garden bed
Lilies look so pale,
Lilies droop the head
In the shady grassy vale;
If all alike they pine
In shade and in shine,
If everywhere they grieve,
Where will lilies live?
Lilies look so pale,
Lilies droop the head
In the shady grassy vale;
If all alike they pine
In shade and in shine,
If everywhere they grieve,
Where will lilies live?
[October enters briskly, some leafy twigs bearing different sorts of nuts in one hand, and a long ripe hop-bine trailing after him from the other. A dahlia is stuck in his buttonhole.]
October.
Nay, cheer up sister.
Life is not quite over,
Even if the year has done with corn and clover,
With flowers and leaves; besides, in fact it's true,
Some leaves remain and some flowers too,
For me and you.
Now see my crops:
Life is not quite over,
Even if the year has done with corn and clover,
With flowers and leaves; besides, in fact it's true,
Some leaves remain and some flowers too,
For me and you.
Now see my crops:
[Offering his produce to September.]
I've brought you nuts and hops;
And when the leaf drops, why, the walnut drops.
And when the leaf drops, why, the walnut drops.
[October wreaths the hop-bine about September's neck, and gives her the nut twigs. They enter the cottage together,
