"For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made..." Romans 1:20, NIV
It's not my poem... It's one I learned in school about 50 years ago, but apparently not well enough. I can only ever remember the first four lines - and I want to recite it again every single September when I see the corn begiining to turn like in this photo.
I looked the poem up on the Internet (whatever did we do before computers?) and here it is now...
September
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 curing in the sun; In dusty pods the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun.
The sedges haunt their harvest, In every meadow's nook; And asters by the brookside Make asters in the brook.
From dewy lanes at morning The grapes' sweet odore rise; At noon the roads all flutter With yellow butterflies.
By all those lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather, And autumn's best of cheer.
2 comments:
You can't just stop a poem like that! It feels as though there must be more. I loved it.
It's not my poem... It's one I learned in school about 50 years ago, but apparently not well enough. I can only ever remember the first four lines - and I want to recite it again every single September when I see the corn begiining to turn like in this photo.
I looked the poem up on the Internet (whatever did we do before computers?) and here it is now...
September
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 curing in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.
The sedges haunt their harvest,
In every meadow's nook;
And asters by the brookside
Make asters in the brook.
From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes' sweet odore rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.
By all those lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer's best of weather,
And autumn's best of cheer.
Helen Hunt Jackson
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