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.

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