Читать книгу Birds and Nature, Vol. 12 No. 2 [July 1902] - Various - Страница 1

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!

Graceful tossing plume of gold,

Waving lowly on the rocky ledge;

Leaning seaward, lovely to behold,

Clinging to the high cliff’s ragged edge;

Burning in the pure September day,

Spike of gold against the stainless blue,

Do you watch the vessels drifting by?

Does the quiet day seem long to you?