OCTOBER by MARGARET ELIZABETH MUNSON SANGSTER

WE are drinking the wine of the ages
From cups that are brimming over
With the sweet of a honey unbought with money,
Distilled from the heart of the clover.

The fathomless blue of the heaven,
The beauty and bloom of the day,
Are making us young,—they are waking the tongue
Of the years that have passed away.

'Tis the radiant, rare October,
With the clusters ripe on the vine,
With scents that mingle in spicy tingle
On the hill slope's glimmering line.

And summer's a step behind us,
And autumn's a thought before,
And each fleet, sweet day that we meet on the way
Is an angel at the door.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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