The goldenrod 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 Its hidden silk has spun; The sedges flaunt their harvest In every meadow nook, And asters by the brookside Make asters in the brook; From dewy lanes at morning The grapes' sweet odors rise; At noon the roads all flutter With yellow butterflies -- By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer. |