Poems (Howard)/October
For works with similar titles, see October.
October.
Oh, what can rival Nature's charms, O'er all the woodlands lying, When "Autumn folds her jeweled arms Around the year," now dying!
With fresh surprise on every hand, But not one hue that's sober, A nameless charm invests the land In radiant, rare October.
What splendor everywhere displayed In lavishness unsparing! 'Tis Nature's own "grand dress parade," Her full regalia wearing.
Fair, blooming Spring, in robes of green, That once we deemed enchanting, Grows pale when Autumn, gorgeous queen, Her royal robes are flaunting.
The loveliest tints that Nature hath Were blent and concentrated Around one bright, sequestered path, Wherein I walked, elated.
The maples and the beeches tried To prove each other duller, And lent to all the mountain side Luxuriance of color.
The sumacs, in their scarlet hoods, Stood proudly up, defying The tallest monarch of the woods, All gorgeous, in their dying.
The ivy, clinging to the oak, Looked down, serenely blushing. And though no sound the silence broke, I marked her hectic flushing.
The leaves, that rustled to my tread, Glanced up but to discover Bright tints of gold, and brown, and red, In branches bending over.
Such beauties all a hand bespeak With heavenly skill acquainted; The hand that gives the rose's cheek Its hue, divinely painted.
May wondrous Nature long retain The glories that enrobe her, And chill November not disdain To emulate October.