Verse by Beatrice Crane; Design by Walter Crane. Now rich SEPTEMBER comes,For autumn-tide is nigh,And purple grapes hangFrom clinging vines on high. Her golden coloured robeIs shot with sunset light;Her hair is shaded 'neathA 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 … Continue reading The Month of September