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September days are here, With summer's best of weather, And autumn's best of cheer. But none of all this beauty. Which floods the earth and air. Is unto me the secret. Which makes September fair. 'T is a thing which I remember; To name it thrills me yet: One day of one September. I never can forget.
September. Helen Hunt Jackson. 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;
September. by Helen Hunt Jackson. The golden-rod is yellow; The corn is turning brown; The trees in apple orchards. With fruit are bending down. The gentian’s bluest fringes. Are curling in the sun; In dusty pods the milkweed.
September. by Helen Hunt Jackson. 1 The golden-rod is yellow; 2 The corn is turning brown; 3 The trees in apple orchards. 4 With fruit are bending down. 5 The gentian's bluest fringes. 6 Are curling in the sun; 7 In dusty pods the milkweed.
Read, review and discuss the September poem by Helen Hunt Jackson on Poetry.com.
This sensory-rich imagery aligns with the transcendentalist movement's focus on the natural world. The portrayal of September's beauty also resonates with the mid-19th century fascination with the changing of the year and the bittersweet quality of the fall season.
1 The golden-rod is yellow; 2 The corn is turning brown; 3 The trees in apple orchards 4 With fruit are bending down. 5 The gentian's bluest fringes 6 Are curling in the sun; 7 In dusty pods the ...
