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A Calendar Of Sonnets: September

Rating: 3.0

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
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Tapan M. Saren 02 September 2016

Fantastic! Lovely! Wow!

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Charity Nduhiu 07 September 2015

Wonderful poem i like it. Thanks Helen

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Edward Kofi Louis 02 September 2015

Her utmost gold is with the muse of love and nature. Nice work.

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Pijush Biswas 02 September 2015

A beautiful sonnet on harvest. like this thanks

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Ramesh T A 02 September 2015

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!

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