Poems (Howard)/September Song
September Song.
These beautiful clays of September For me have a wonderful charm, Because of the joys I remember Of old autumn-life on the farm.
Was ever a spot more inviting To wayfarer weary and lone? Where guests ever vied in requiting The manifold courtesies shown.
Where industry rendered abundant Each annual gathering-in Of harvests, till rich and redundant Became every storehouse and bin.
As benisons graciously given, That household I cannot forget Accepted the largess of heaven, And humbly acknowledged the debt.
Oh, earth has a million of places To tarry—but only one home! And dear to my heart are the faces That haunt me wherever I roam.
Among them is one of a brother, So ardent and loyal and brave; In battle like many another, His life for his country he gave.
A leader, collected and ready, 'Mid tumult of cannon and shell—"On, comrades! and keep the line steady!" The words that he uttered—and fell.
How meager appear the diversions That then could rusticity please! The quilting-bees, huskings, excursions In "pirogues" hewn out of the trees.
A saucy-faced maiden of twenty, In home-made habiliments dressed, If parties and suitors were plenty, No higher ambition possessed.
But under my eyelids are welling Sad tears for the dearest of earth, The promise and light of our dwelling— For this was the month of her birth.
I am sure that so gentle a spirit, Embodying goodness and love—Her birthright—must also inherit A place in the "mansions above."
Before me in exquisite vision Are scenes that enchanted me then,And in this September Elysian The past I live over again.