September
- O GOLDEN month! How high thy gold is heaped!
- The yellow birch-leaves shine like bright coins strung
- On wands; the chestnut’s yellow pennons tongue
- To every wind its harvest challenge. Steeped
- In yellow, still lie fields where wheat was reaped;
- And yellow still the corn sheaves, stacked among
- The yellow gourds, which from the earth have wrung
- Her utmost gold. To highest boughs have leaped
- The purple grape,–last thing to ripen, late
- By very reason of its precious cost.
- O Heart, remember, vintages are lost
- If grapes do not for freezing night-dews wait.
- Think, while thou sunnest thyself in Joy’s estate,
- Mayhap thou canst not ripen without frost!
- Helen Hunt Jackson
-
Embrace Autumn! If you’re in Philadelphia this weekend, try to catch one of these special events
-
Ornamento 
