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A summer poem

August


The yellow goldenrod is dressed

In gala-day attire;

The glowing redweed by the fence

Shines like a crimson fire;

And from the hot field’s farthest edge

The cricket’s soft refrain With mellow accent tells the tale That August’s here again. In shining blue the aster wild Unfolds her petals fair; The clematis, upreaching, seeks To clasp and kiss the air; The brilliant poppy flaunts her head Amidst the ripening grain, And adds her voice to swell the song That August’s here again. The dusty thistle by the road Scatters a silvery spray; The sun pours down his scorching beams Upon the fainting day; The blackberry vine bends with its weight Of fruit down in the lane; And adds its testimony, too, That August's here again. The wild hop, from the young elm’s bough, Sways on the languid breeze, And here and there the autumn tints Gleam faintly through the trees. All Nature helps to swell the song And chant the same refrain; July and June have slipped away And August’s here again. Helen Maria Winslow (1851-1938)

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