Poems (Merrill)/October

by Clara A. Merrill

For works with similar titles, see October.

OCTOBER

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Down, the faded leaves are drifting,  From grey branches overhead; All summer birds have taken flight,  The grass is sere and dead.—   The brown earth tells us Summer's gone—   The frost lies white at early morn. October

See! now is yon distant landscape  Clothed in warm and purple haze; Redolent with ripen'd harvests  Of the Indian Summer days.    Bright—ye golden days—and glad,    Beautiful, yet erstwhile sad October

Now the corn, no longer waving.  Shocked, stands waiting for the bin; Choice fruit and garden products  Soon will all be gathered in.    Golden pumpkins, piled up high,—   Indicative of lucious pie! October!