October's the month When the smallest breeze Gives us a shower Of autumn leaves.
All the leaves are falling down, Falling down, falling down. Falling , falling to the ground It is autumn!
One fine October morning In September, last July The moon lay thick upon the ground, The snow shone in the sky.
Now fades the last long streak of snow, Now burgeons every maze of quick About the flowering squares, and thick By ashen roots the violets blow.
O thou, with dewy locks, who lookest down Thro' the clear windows of the morning; turn Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
In springtime the violets grow in the sidewalk cracks and the ants play furiously at my gum-shoed toes
March bustles in on windy feet And sweeps my doorstep and my street. She washes and cleans with pounding rains, Scrubbing the earth of winter stains.
Thirty days hath September, April, June and November, February has twenty-eight alone. All the rest have thirty-one,
I love May's first storms: chuckling, sporting spring grumbles in mock anger; young thunder claps,
From its blue vase the rose of evening drops; Upon the streams its petals float away. The hills all blue with distance hide their tops In the dim silence falling on the grey.