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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=407872" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Calendar of Sonnets: September</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=407872" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">O golden month! How high thy gold is heaped! <br>The yellow birch-leaves shine like bright coins strung <br>On wands; the chestnut's yellow pennons tongue <br>To every wind its harvest challenge. Steeped <br>In yellow, still lie fields where wheat was reaped; <br>And yellow still the corn sheaves, stacked among <br>The yellow gourds, which from the earth have wrung <br>Her utmost gold. To highest boughs have leaped <br>The purple grape,--last thing to ripen, late <br>By very reason of its precious cost. <br>O Heart, remember, vintages are lost <br>If grapes do not for freezing night-dews wait. <br>Think, while thou sunnest thyself in Joy's estate, <br>Mayhap thou canst not ripen without frost!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Helen+Hunt+Jackson">Helen Hunt Jackson</a></strong></div>

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