The Month of September

Verse by Beatrice Crane; Design by Walter Crane.

Now rich SEPTEMBER comes,
For autumn-tide is nigh,
And purple grapes hang
From clinging vines on high.

Her golden coloured robe
Is shot with sunset light;
Her hair is shaded ‘neath
A wreath of vine-leaves bright.

Her clear brown eyes gaze forth,
And quickly does she see.
Where are the ruddy apples,
And shakes them from the tree.

Her basket & her lap
Are filled to overflowing,
With apples, grapes, & pears,
All in the sunshine glowing.

The leaves begin to change
Their own fair summer hue,
As slowly she departs
While still the sky is blue.