Wednesday, September 1, 2010


Crickets are making
The merriest din,
All the fields waking
With shrill violin.

Now all the swallows
Debate when to go;
In the valleys and hollows
The mists are like snow.

Piled up leaves smoulder,
All hazy the noon,
Nights have grown colder,
The frost will some soon.

Early lamps burning, 
So soon the night falls,
Leaves, crimson turning,
Make bright the stone walls.

Summer recalling
At turn of the year,
Fruit will be falling,
September is here.

~~Edward Bliss Reed

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