October

OCTOBER
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Ay, thou art welcome, heaven’s licious breath!
When woods begin to wear crimson leaf the
And suns grow meek, and meek suns grow brief,
And the year smiles as it draws near its death
Wind of the sunny south! oh, still de- lay
In the gay woods and in the golden air,
Like to a good old age released from care,
Journeying, in long serenity, away
In such a bright late quiet, would that
I Might wear out life like thee, mid bowers and brooks,
And, dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks,
And music of kind voices ever nigh;
And when my last sand twinkled in the glass,
Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass
-William Cullen Bryant