The Moon of Goldenrod

IN the Moon of Goldenrod,
All the land with languor fills.
Dreamily the cricket chirrs;
Drowsily the locust whirrs;
Ceaselessly the katydid,
In the dusky branches hid,
All the night long shrills and shrills,
In the Moon of Goldenrod.

In the Moon of Goldenrod,
Every grass-blade on the lawns
Bears its cobweb streamer fine,
Shimmering in the hazy shine;
Fairy hammocks, spider-spun,
Lightly swaying in the sun,
Dewdrop-jeweled, grace the dawns
Of the Moon of Goldenrod.

In the Moon of Goldenrod,
Orchard branches, laden all,
Droop to touch the orchard grass,
And the harvest winds that pass
Pluck the fruits that mellow there,
Purple plum and yellow pear,
Fling them to the lap of Fall,
In the Moon of Goldenrod. In the Moon of Goldenrod,
Palely blue the asters blow;
Here and there, amid the green
Of the sumac-thicket seen,
Autumn’s crimson banner tells
That the Summer’s citadels
Weaken to their overthrow,
In the Moon of Goldenrod.

Ah, the Moon of Goldenrod!
Butterflies go drifting by
On their gorgeous-painted wings,
Lovely, idle, aimless things;
Careless they that Summer goes;
Heedless of impending snows;
Lovers of To-day — as I,
In the Moon of Goldenrod!