“O suns and skies and clouds of June, And flowers of June together; Ye cannot rival for one hour, October’s bright blue weather….
When loud the bumblebee makes haste, Belated, thriftless vagrant; And goldenrod is dying fast, And lanes with grapes are fragrant…
When gentians roll their fingers tight, To save them for the morning; And chestnuts fall from satin burrs, Without a sound of warning….
When on the ground red apples lie, In piles like jewels shining; And redder still on old stone walls, Are leaves of woodbine twining….
When all the lovely wayside things, Their white-winged seeds are sowing; And in the fields still green and fair, Late aftermaths are growing….
When springs run low, and on the brooks, In idle golden freighting; Bright leaves...