October.

I would not ask thee back, fair May,         With all your bright-eyed flowers;     Nor would I welcome April days         With all their laughing showers;     For each bright season of the year         Can claim its own sweet pleasures;     And we must take them as they come--         These gladly-given treasures.     There's music in the rain that falls         In bright October weather;     And we must learn to love them both--         The sun and rain together.     A mist is 'round the mountain-tops         Of gold-encircled splendor;     A dreamy spell is in the air         Of beauty sad and tender.     The winter hath not wooed her yet,         This fair October maiden;     And she is free to wander still         With fruits and flowers laden.     She shakes the dew-drops from her hair         In one swift, golden shower;     And all the woods are filled with light         That gilds each autumn flower.     But soon the frost-king's icy breath         Will chill her laughing beauty;     And she will waken in the dusk         Unto a sterner duty.     Ah! life is full of days like these,         Of days too bright to perish;     Yet death, like winter, claims too oft         The things we most would cherish.