Warmed with the new wine of the year,

Tells all in his lusty crowing!

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

From "The Vision of Sir Launfal.”

July

*

When the scarlet cardinal tells

Her dream to the dragon fly,

And the lazy breeze makes a nest in the trees,

And murmurs a lullaby,

It is July.

When the tangled cobweb pulls

The cornflower's cap awry,

And the lilies tall lean over the wall
To bow to the butterfly,

It is July.

When the heat like a mist-veil floats,

And poppies flame in the rye,

And the silver note in the streamlet's throat
Has softened almost to a sigh,
It is July.

When the hours are so still that time
Forgets them, and lets them lie
'Neath petals pink till the night stars wink
At the sunset in the sky,

It is July.

*

SUSAN HARTLEY SWETT.

*By courtesy of Dana Estes & Co.

A

Chanted

Calendar

A

Chanted

August

Calendar The sixth was August, being rich arrayed
In garment all of gold down to the ground;
Yet rode he not, but led a lovely maid
Forth by the lily hand, the which was crowned
With ears of corn, and full her hand was found:
That was the righteous Virgin, which of old
Lived here on earth, and plenty made abound.
EDMUND SPENSER.

In August

All the long August afternoon,

The little drowsy stream
Whispers a melancholy tune,

As if it dreamed of June,

And whispered in its dream.

The thistles show beyond the brook

Dust on their down and bloom,

And out of many a weed-grown nock

The aster flowers look

With eyes of tender gloom.

The silent orchard aisles are sweet

With smell of ripening fruit.

Through the sere grass, in shy retreat

Flutter, at coming feet,

The robins strange and mute.

There is no wind to stir the leaves,
The harsh leaves overhead;

Only the querulous cricket grieves,
And shrilling locust weaves

A song of summer dead.

WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS.

Autumn

Then came the Autumn all in yellow clad,
As though he joyèd in his plenteous store,
Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full glad
That he had banished hunger, which to-fore
Had by the belly oft him pinchèd sore:
Upon his head a wreath, that was enroll'd

With ears of corn of every sort, he bore;
And in his hand a sickle he did hold,

To reap the ripen'd fruits the which the earth had

yold.

EDMUND SPENSER.

From "The Faerie Queene."

Sweet September

O sweet September! thy first breezes bring
The dry leaf's rustle and the squirrel's laugh-

ter,

The cool, fresh air, whence health and vigor

spring,

And promise of exceeding joy hereafter.

GEORGE ARNOLD.

A Chanted Calendar

A

Chanted

Calendar

Autumn's Processional

Then step by step walks Autumn,

With steady eyes that show

Nor grief nor fear, to the death of the year,

While the equinoctials blow.

DINAH MARIA MULOCK.

October's Bright Blue Weather

O suns and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather;

When loud the bumblebee makes haste,
Belated, thriftless vagrant,

And goldenrod is dying fast,

And lanes with grapes are fragrant;

When gentians roll their fringes tight
To save them for the morning,
And chestnuts fall from satin burrs
Without a sound of warning;

When on the ground red apples lie
In piles like jewels shining,

And redder still on old stone walls

Are leaves of woodbine twining;

When all the lovely wayside things

Their white-winged seeds are sowing, And in the fields, still green and fair, Late aftermaths are growing;

When springs run low, and on the brooks,
In idle golden freighting,

Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush
Of woods, for winter waiting;

When comrades seek sweet country haunts,
By twos and twos together,

And count like misers, hour by hour,
October's bright blue weather.

O sun and skies and flowers of June,
Count all your boasts together,

Love loveth best of all the year
October's bright blue weather.

Chanted Calendar

H. H.

Maple Leaves

October turned my maple's leaves to gold;
The most are gone now; here and there one
lingers:

Soon these will slip from out the twigs' weak hold,
Like coins between a dying miser's fingers.

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.