OCTOBER.
Reading edition
By Susan Hartley.
October comes across the hill Like some light ghost, she is so still, Though her sweet cheeks are rosy; And through the floating thistle-down Her trailing, brier-tangled gown Gleams like a crimson posy. The crickets in the stubble chime; Lanterns flash out at milking time; The daisy’s lost her ruffles; The wasps the honeyed pippins try; A film is over the blue sky, A spell the river muffles. The golden-rod fades in the sun; The spider’s gauzy veil is spun Athwart the drooping sedges; The nuts drop softly from their burrs; No bird-song the dim silence stirs,— A blight is on the hedges. But filled with fair content is she, As if no frost could ever be, To dim her brown eyes’ luster; And much she knows of fairy folk That dance beneath the spreading oak With tinkling mirth and bluster. She listens when the dusky eves Step softly on the fallen leaves, As if for message cheering; And it must be that she can hear, Beyond November grim and drear, The feet of Christmas nearing.
