Edgar Albert Guest September Poems


SEPTEMBER with her brushes dipped in dazzling red and gold
Now comes to paint the valleys and the hills;
And we forget completely that the year is getting old
As we gaze upon the color that she spills.

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