Helen Hunt Jackson

(18 October 1830 – 12 August 1885 / Amherst, Massachusetts)

A Calendar Of Sonnets: September - Poem by Helen Hunt Jackson

O golden month! How high thy gold is heaped!
The yellow birch-leaves shine like bright coins strung
On wands; the chestnut's yellow pennons tongue
To every wind its harvest challenge. Steeped
In yellow, still lie fields where wheat was reaped;
And yellow still the corn sheaves, stacked among
The yellow gourds, which from the earth have wrung
Her utmost gold. To highest boughs have leaped
The purple grape,--last thing to ripen, late
By very reason of its precious cost.
O Heart, remember, vintages are lost
If grapes do not for freezing night-dews wait.
Think, while thou sunnest thyself in Joy's estate,
Mayhap thou canst not ripen without frost!

Comments about A Calendar Of Sonnets: September by Helen Hunt Jackson

  • Gold Star - 8,103 Points Charity Nduhiu (9/7/2015 12:57:00 AM)

    Wonderful poem i like it. Thanks Helen (Report) Reply

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  • Gold Star - 36,628 Points Edward Kofi Louis (9/2/2015 5:10:00 AM)

    Her utmost gold is with the muse of love and nature. Nice work. (Report) Reply

  • Gold Star - 4,883 Points Pijush Biswas (9/2/2015 2:08:00 AM)

    A beautiful sonnet on harvest.

    like this
    thanks (Report) Reply

  • Gold Star - 13,158 Points Ramesh T A (9/2/2015 12:31:00 AM)

    Fine sonnet on the beauty of gold growing on the fields with wine to be ready by the rich growth of grapes are wonderfully dealt with here! (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: purple, remember, joy, lost, wind, september, night, heart

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

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