Bending beneath his load, October comes,
With dreamy depths of gray blue sky,
And smoke wreathes floating over quiet homes
That in the valleys lie.

Among the few lone flowers, the honey bees
Roam restlessly, and fail to find
The summer morning dew's rich perfumed lees,
June's roses held enshrined.

The purple grapes hang ready for the kiss
Of red lips, sweeter than their wine;
And through the turning leaves they soon will miss
The crimson apple's shine.

Lazily through the soft and sunlit air
The great hawks fly, and give no heed
To the lithe songsters, that toward the fair,
Far lands of summer speed.

Along the hills, wild asters bend to greet
The roadside's wealth of golden rod,
And by the fences, the bright sumachs meet
The morning light of God.

Slowly the shadows of the clouds drift o'er
The hillsides, clad in opal haze,
Where butterflies now seek the fragrant store
Of flower-sprent summer days.

All clad in dusted gold the tall elms stand
Just in the edges of the wood,
And near the chestnut sentinels the land,
And shows its russet hood.

The maple flaunts its scarlet banners, where
The marsh lies clad in shining mist;
The mountain oak shows in the clear, bright air,
Its crown of amethyst.

Where, like a silver line, the sparkling stream
Winds, murmuring, through the meadows brown,
Amid the golden glory, like a dream
A sail-less boat floats down.

All day and night rare beauty seems to fold
The wide land, where October stands
With leaves of green and scarlet, brown and gold,
Fast falling from his hands.

His is the presence that with gladness crowns
The long, long days of toil and care,
His bright smile shining where November frowns,
With snow-rime in his hair.