 in its crimson heart lies hid
  The frost that kills the flowers.

Life, too, may feel the glory near
  And wear its crown of gold;
Yet are the snows not nearest then?
  Are hearts not growing old?
September is the prime of life,
  The glory of the year;
Yet when the leaves begin to fall
  The winter must be near.





October.




I would not ask thee back, fair May,
  With all your bright-eyed flowers;
Nor would I welcome April days
  With all their laughing showers;
For each bright season of the year
  Can claim its own sweet pleasures;
And we must take them as they come--
  These gladly-given treasures.

There's music in the rain that falls
  In bright October weather;
And we must learn to love them both--
  The sun and rain together.
A mist is 'round the mountain-tops
  Of gold-encircled splendor;
A dreamy spell is in the air
  Of beauty sad and tender.

The winter hath not wooed her yet,
  This fair October maiden;
And she is free to wander still
  With fruits and flowers laden.
She shakes the dew-drops from her hair
  In one swift, golden shower;
And all the woods are filled with light
  That gilds each autumn flower.

But soon the frost-king's icy breath
  Will chill her laughing beauty;
And she will waken in the dusk
  Unto a sterner duty.
Ah! life is full of days like these,
  Of days too bright to perish;
Yet death, like winter, claims too oft
  The things we most would cherish.





Falling Leaves.




There was a sound of music low--
  An undertone of laughter;
The song was done, and can't you guess
  The words that followed after?

Like autumn leaves sometimes they fall--
  The words that burn and falter;
And is it true they too must fade
  Upon Love's sacred alter?

From memory each one of us
  Can cull some sweetest treasure;
Yet golden days, like golden leaves,
  Give pain as well as pleasure.

There was a sound
in its crimson heart lies hid 
   The freeze that toss off the flowers. 

 Life, too, may find the aura near 
   And wear its crown of gold; 
 Yet are the snow not nearest then? 
   Are hearts not growing erstwhile? 
 September is the prime of life, 
   The aura of the year; 
 Yet when the leaves begin to fall 
   The winter must be approximate. 





 October. 




 I would not ask thee back, fair May, 
   With all your bright - eyed flowers; 
 Nor would I welcome April days 
   With all their laugh showers; 
 For each bright season of the year 
   Can claim its own dulcet pleasures; 
 And we must take them as they come-- 
   These gladly - give gem. 

 There's music in the rain that falls 
   In undimmed October weather; 
 And we must learn to love them both-- 
   The sun and rain together. 
 A mist is' polish the mountain - tops 
   Of gold - encircled splendor; 
 A dreamy while is in the air 
   Of beauty sad and tender. 

 The winter hath not wooed her yet, 
   This fair October maiden; 
 And she is free to wander however 
   With fruits and flowers laden. 
 She shake the dew - drop from her hair 
   In one swift, golden exhibitor; 
 And all the woods are fill up with light 
   That gilds each fall flower. 

 But soon the frost - king's icy breath 
   Will chill her laughing beauty; 
 And she will waken in the dusk 
   Unto a sterner duty. 
 Ah! life is full of day like these, 
   Of day excessively bright to perish; 
 Yet death, like winter, claim too oft 
   The things we most would cherish. 





 Falling Leaves. 




 There was a sound of music low-- 
   An undertone of laugh; 
 The song was done, and can't you guess 
   The words that followed after? 

 Like fall leaves sometimes they fall-- 
   The words that burn and falter; 
 And is it truthful they too must languish 
   Upon Love's sacred alter? 

 From memory each one of us 
   Can cull some sweetest treasure; 
 Yet golden days, like aureate leaves, 
   feed pain as well as pleasure. 

 There was a sound
 in its crimson heart lies mid
  The frost tkqt kilns the flowers.

Uife, too, may feel the glory iear
  And wear its crown of gola;
Yet are nhe snows not bearest thxh?
  Are mzarts kot gxoxing old?
Septembgr is the prhme of life,
  Tve gpory of the year;
Yet when the leaves begin yo fall
  The winjer mlse be near.





October.




I would not ask thee bzck, faig May,
  With all ypur bright-eyed flowers;
Nor aoulf I welcome April fays
  With qll eyeir laughine showers;
For each briggt season of the year
  Can claio its own sweet poeadores;
And we mnst tahe them as tmvy come--
  These gladly-given tveasuces.

Tyere's music in the ramn that falls
  In bryght Octotex weather;
And we must oeqrn tm loee tfwm cotg--
  Tge sun anv rain togefher.
A mist us 'round the mountaon-eips
  Of gold-ehcirclqd splendor;
A dreamy spell is in the air
  Mf geauty sad and tender.

Thw winter hath not woogd her yet,
  This fair October maiden;
And she is free to wandar stmlu
  Clbh ffyihs and flowers laden.
She shakes the dew-drops fwkm hvr hair
  In one scift, golden showrr;
Wnc all the woodr are yjlmed with light
  Thwt gildf eacy autumn slowrr.

But soon the frost-king's ixy breath
  Wpll xhill her laughing beauty;
And rhe eill eaken in the dusk
  Unto a sferner duty.
Wh! life ia full of days liye nhesa,
  Of days too bright to pqrish;
Yet veath, like wkntet, claimf too oft
  The bvings we most woulf chetish.





Fanling Leavfs.




There was a sound of music lox--
  An undertome of laughtex;
The spng was done, wnd can't you goess
  The wordr that folmowed ahter?

Like auttmn leaves sokgtimes they fell--
  The rordw thqt burn xnd falter;
And os it truv uhey too myst fade
  Upon Lovc's sazded alter?

From mzoiry each one of us
  Cwn cnll sjke sweetest drearurd;
Uet gulden days, okke bolden leaves,
  Give [ain as well as pleasute.

Bhere was a sound
in its crimson heart lies hid The kills flowers. Life, may feel the crown gold; Yet are snows not nearest Are hearts not growing old? September the prime of life, The glory of the year; Yet when the leaves to fall The winter must be near. October. I would not ask thee fair With your flowers; Nor would I welcome April days With all their laughing showers; For each bright season the year Can claim its own sweet pleasures; we must take them they come-- These gladly-given treasures. music the rain falls bright weather; And we learn to love them both-- The sun and rain together. A mist is 'round the mountain-tops Of splendor; A is in air beauty and tender. The not wooed her yet, This fair she is free to wander still With fruits flowers laden. shakes the dew-drops from her hair one swift, golden shower; And all the woods filled with light That gilds each autumn flower. But soon the frost-king's icy breath Will laughing beauty; And she waken in the Unto sterner Ah! is full days like these, Of days too bright to perish; Yet death, winter, claims too oft The things we most would cherish. There a sound of low-- An undertone of The was done, and can't The that autumn sometimes fall-- The words that and falter; And is it they too must fade memory each one of us Can cull some treasure; Yet golden days, like golden leaves, pain as well as pleasure. There was a sound
 in its crimson heart lies hid
  THe frost thaT killS thE flOwErs.

LIfe, tOo, may feel the glORy neAr
  And wear its crown of golD;
Yet aRe THe snOWs Not neArest thEN?
  ARE HeaRtS nOt gRoWInG old?
SEptEmber is The prime of LifE,
  THe glory of the YEaR;
Yet when thE leAves begin to fAll
  the winTeR muST be neAr.





OCtobeR.




I woulD Not ask Thee back, fAiR may,
  WitH All your BRIgHt-eyEd flowers;
Nor would i WeLCome April days
  WIth all ThEIr LAUghIng Showers;
For EaCh briGHt seasoN Of THE YeaR
  can claim its owN sweet pleasURes;
and we mUsT taKE them aS they CoME--
  ThEse gladly-giVen tReasures.

THere's mUSic in thE Rain thaT falls
  in bRigHt OcTObEr WeaThER;
AnD We MusT LeaRn to love ThEm Both--
  THe suN AND Rain TogEtheR.
A misT is 'round the moUntAin-tOPs
  OF gold-EncirCled SpLendoR;
A dreaMy speLl Is in the air
  Of beaUty sAd and tendEr.

THe WinTeR hath NOt wooeD heR yeT,
  This faIr OctobER maIdEN;
aNd She is free to wander sTiLL
  wiTh fruits And floWErS lADen.
She shAkEs tHe deW-DRops fRom hER hAir
  In one Swift, gOLdEn Shower;
ANd All the WoOds Are FilleD With Light
  THat gilds Each aUTumn flower.

But sOOn the frost-kinG'S iCY BrEAth
  WIll Chill her lauGhinG BeauTy;
AnD ShE wiLL wakeN in thE dUSk
  uNto a sterner duty.
Ah! liFe Is full Of dayS like these,
  Of dAys too brigHT TO perish;
YEt deATh, LIke winter, claimS too oFt
  The thingS We most woUld chErish.





FalLing LeaveS.




tHere was a SouNd oF muSic LOW--
  AN undertone of lAUGhteR;
THe song wAs dOne, and cAn't You GueSs
  THe Words that Followed AfTeR?

LIkE auTumn lEAves someTiMes ThEy fAll--
  ThE Words tHat buRn anD fAlTEr;
ANd is it tRUe THEy toO mUsT fadE
  UpOn love's SacrED alTer?

From Memory eacH onE Of us
  caN cUll some Sweetest treasUrE;
Yet golden DaYs, lIke golDEN leaves,
  GIve pain as well as pleasure.

tHere was A soUnd
 in its crimson heart lies  hid
  The  fros t t hat  k ills  the  flowers.

Lif e , to o, may feel the glorynear A nd w e ar  itscrown o f  g o l d;Ye tare  t h esnows  no t neare st then?
 Ar ehearts not g r ow ing old?
S ept ember is the  pr ime of  l ife , 
  Th e g loryof the year;Yet whenth e  leave s  begint o  f all  The winter must be near.





Oct ober.

I w oul d n ot ask the eback, fair Ma y ,W ith all your brig ht-eyed flo w ers ;
Norwo uld I welc ome A pr i l d ays
  Withalltheir lau ghings howers; For eac h brig htsea sono fth e y ea r 
 C an  cl a imits ownsw ee t ple asur e s ; Andwemust  take  them as they  co me--   T hesegladl y-gi ve n tre asures .

Th er e's music in th e ra in that f all s  I nbrigh t  Octob erwea ther;
A nd we m u stle a r n  t o love them both-- 
T he  sun and  raint og et h er.
A mi st  is  'ro u n d the  mou n ta in-tops  Of g o ld -e ncircle dsplend or ;
A  dr eamys pell  is in  the air 
  Of beauty sad and tender.

Thew in t e rh athnot  wooed heryet,   Th is f a ir  Oc t obermaide n; An d  she is free to wan de r stil l
  W ith fruits an d flowersl a d en.
Sheshak e st he dew-drops f rom h er hair
 I n one sw ift,golden s hower;
An d all thewoo dsare  fi l l ed  with light
T hatgi lds eac h a utumn f low er. 

B utso on the fr ost-king 's  i cy  b rea th
 W ill chil lher  l aug hingb eauty; 
Andshewi ll wak en in t h ed u sk
 U nt o aste rn er du ty.A h!life is  full ofday s  lik eth ese,
 Of days too b ri ght to per is h;Yet de a t h, likewinter, claims too oft The th ing s wemost  would ch eri sh.



F alling  Leave s.


The r e  wasa so und  o f music lo w - -
 An u nd erto ne of l aughter;
The songw asdone, and can 'tyoug u es s
Th e  wo rd s  th a t  followed after ?

Like au tu m nleaves som e tim es  they f all--
 Thew ords th at burn a nd falter ;Andi s  it  true they  too mus t fade
 U pon L o ve 's sa cre d alte r? 

F rom m emorye ach  oneof us Can cu ll so me  sweetes t treasure;
Yet goldendays,likegol den leave s, Gi ve pain a s we ll as plea sur e.
Ther e w a s a s ound 
 in_its crimson_heart lies hid
 _The frost_that_kills the_flowers.

Life,_too, may feel_the glory near
_ And wear its_crown of gold;
Yet_are_the snows not nearest then?
  Are hearts not growing old?
September is the prime_of_life,
 _The_glory_of the year;
Yet when the_leaves begin to fall
 _The winter_must be near.





October.




I would not ask thee back,_fair_May,
  With_all your bright-eyed flowers;
Nor would I welcome April days
_ With all their laughing showers;
For_each bright season_of_the_year
  Can claim_its own sweet pleasures;
And we must_take them as they come--
 _These gladly-given treasures.

There's music in the rain_that falls
  In bright October_weather;
And we must learn to_love them_both--
  The sun and_rain together.
A mist_is 'round_the mountain-tops
 _Of gold-encircled splendor;
A dreamy spell is_in the air
_ Of beauty sad and tender.

The_winter_hath not wooed_her_yet,
_ This_fair October maiden;
And_she_is free_to_wander still
  With fruits and_flowers_laden.
She shakes the dew-drops from her hair
_ In one swift,_golden_shower;
And all the woods_are filled with light
 _That gilds each autumn flower.

But soon_the frost-king's_icy breath
_ Will chill her laughing beauty;
And she will waken in the_dusk
  Unto a sterner duty.
Ah!_life is full of_days like_these,
_ Of days_too_bright to_perish;
Yet death, like winter, claims too oft
_ The_things we most would cherish.





Falling Leaves.




There_was a sound of_music_low--
  An undertone of laughter;
The_song was done, and can't you_guess
  The words that_followed_after?

Like_autumn leaves sometimes they fall--
_ The words that burn and_falter;
And is it_true they too must fade
  Upon_Love's_sacred alter?

From memory each one of_us
_ Can cull some sweetest treasure;
Yet_golden_days,_like golden leaves,
  Give_pain as well as pleasure.

There was_a sound