A Calendar Of Sonnets: September Poem by Helen Hunt Jackson

A Calendar Of Sonnets: September

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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!

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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Helen Hunt Jackson

Helen Hunt Jackson

Amherst, Massachusetts
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