September by Helen Hunt Jackson

The goldenrod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orhcards
With fruit are bending down.

The gentian's bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
And dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.

The sedges flaunt their harvest
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brook-side
Make asters in the brook.

From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes' sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterfiles.

By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer's best of weather
And autumn's best of cheer.