Today I'm sharing an aptly titled poem by William Wordsworth.
September
by William Wordsworth
Departing summer hath assumed
An aspect tenderly illumed,
The gentlest look of spring;
That calls from yonder leafy shade
Unfaded, yet prepared to fade,
A timely carolling.
No faint and hesitating trill,
Such tribute as to winter chill
The lonely redbreast pays!
Clear, loud, and lively is the din,
From social warblers gathering in
Their harvest of sweet lays.
Read the poem in its entirety.
I do hope you'll take some time to check out all the wonderful poetic things being shared and collected today by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater at The Poem Farm. Happy poetry Friday friends!
I must admit I needed to look for some of the names. Wordsworth celebrates in his poetry, and refers to so many other words that I want to understand. It seems to be leaning toward autumn as tragedy, a mournful turn. Thanks, Tricia.
ReplyDeleteHe lost me on the second line. The end of summer here is brutally hot and dry -- the ground is cracking, grass dying, plants wilting (people, too).
ReplyDeleteMe too! We haven't seen a September like this in a while. His poem has me longing for fall.
ReplyDeleteIt's been hurricane-y and hot here, but Wordsworth captures a fantasy of a perfect month. Ahhh, at the idea of it.
ReplyDeleteWhat fun to imagine this same month, through the eyes of Wordsworth, ninety-seven years ago. xx
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