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Poem	1 The golden-rod is yellow; 2 The corn is turning brown; 3 The trees in apple orchards 4 With fruit are bending down. 5 The gentian's bluest fringes 6 Are curling in the sun; 7 In dusty pods the milkweed 8 Its hidden silk has spun. 9 The sedges flaunt their harvest, 10 In every meadow nook; 11 And asters by the brook-side 12 Make asters in the brook, 13 From dewy lanes at morning 14 The grapes' sweet odors rise; 15 At noon the roads all flutter 16 With yellow butterflies. 17 By all these lovely tokens 18 September days are here, 19 With summer's best of weather, 20 And autumn's best of cheer. 21 But none of all this beauty 22 Which floods the earth and air 23 Is unto me the secret 24 Which makes September fair. 25 'T is a thing which I remember; 26 To name it thrills me yet: 27 One day of one September 28 I never can forget.
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