Top 100 Poems About: SEPTEMBER

In this page, poems on / about “september” are listed.
  • 1.
    It's September

    It's September, and the orchards are afire with red and gold,
    And the nights with dew are heavy, and the morning's sharp with cold;
    Now the garden's at its gayest with the salvia blazing red read more »

    Edgar Albert Guest
  • 2.

    WHAT need you, being come to sense,
    But fumble in a greasy till
    And add the halfpence to the pence read more »

    William Butler Yeats
  • 3.
    In September

    The sky is silver-grey; the long
    Slow waves caress the shore.- read more »

    Amy Levy
  • 4.

    Lo! a ripe sheaf of many golden days
    Gleaned by the year in autumn's harvest ways,
    With here and there, blood-tinted as an ember,
    Some crimson poppy of a late delight read more »

    Lucy Maud Montgomery
  • 5.
    A Calendar Of Sonnets: September

    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 read more »

    Helen Hunt Jackson
  • 6.

    1 The golden-rod is yellow;
    2 The corn is turning brown;
    3 The trees in apple orchards
    4 With fruit are bending down. read more »

    Helen Hunt Jackson
  • 7.
    Elegy In April And September

    Hush, thrush! Hush, missen-thrush, I listen...
    I heard the flush of footsteps through the loose leaves,
    And a low whistle by the water's brim. read more »

    Wilfred Owen
  • 8.
    In September

    SPRING scarce had greener fields to show than these
    Of mid September; through the still warm noon
    The rivulets ripple forth a gladder tune
    Than ever in the summer; from the trees read more »

    Edward Dowden
  • 9.
    On An Apple-Ripe September Morning

    On an apple-ripe September morning
    Through the mist-chill fields I went
    With a pitch-fork on my shoulder
    Less for use than for devilment. read more »

    Patrick Kavanagh
  • 10.

    Now hath the summer reached her golden close,
    And, lost amid her corn-fields, bright of soul,
    Scarcely perceives from her divine repose read more »

    Archibald Lampman
  • 11.
    September Midnight

    Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
    Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, read more »

    Sara Teasdale
  • 12.
    September, 1918

    This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
    The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves; read more »

    Amy Lowell
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