The sweet calm sunshine of October, now
Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mould
The purple read more

The sweet calm sunshine of October, now
Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mould
The purple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough
Drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.

October is a fine and dangerous season in America . . . a
wonderful time to begin anything at read more

October is a fine and dangerous season in America . . . a
wonderful time to begin anything at all.

October's child is born for woe,
And life's vicissitudes must know;
But lay on Opal on her read more

October's child is born for woe,
And life's vicissitudes must know;
But lay on Opal on her breast,
And hope will lull those woes to rest.

And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief,
And the year smiles as it draws near its read more

And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief,
And the year smiles as it draws near its death.

October's foliage yellows with his cold.

October's foliage yellows with his cold.

And close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October's wood.

And close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October's wood.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir:
We must rise and follow her,
When read more

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir:
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame
She calls, and calls each vagabond by name.

No clouds are in the morning sky,
The vapors hug the stream,
Who says that life and read more

No clouds are in the morning sky,
The vapors hug the stream,
Who says that life and love can die
In all this northern gleam?
At every turn the maples burn,
The quail is whistling free,
The partridge whirs, and the frosted burs
Are dropping for you and me.
Ho! hillyho! heigh O!
Hillyho!
In the clear October morning.

October turned by maple's leaves to gold;
The most are gone now; here and there one lingers;
read more

October turned by maple's leaves to gold;
The most are gone now; here and there one lingers;
Soon these will slip from the twig's weak hold,
Like coins between a dying miser's fingers.