The golden-rod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.
		   
The gentian's bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.
		   
The sedges flaunt their harvest
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brook-side
Make asters in the brook.
		   
From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes' sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.
		   
By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summers's best of weather,
And autumn's best of cheer.