By Jean Starr Untermeyer
Now the beautiful business of summer is over,
Earth wraps herself in a bright, leaf-patterned shawl.
The hives cement the prodigal juice of the clover
And spendthrift gold is hoarded in bin and stall.
Beyond the wind-crisped hedge, the cornstalks hover;
The pumpkin lies by the wall.
October’s the heir of the year, and you, my lover,
October’s darling–the first to come at her call–
May claim and hold what your wandering eyes discover
On jeweled hills that tempt a reluctant fall;
Blest by the fired earth, while skies above her
Spill golden peace over all.