There are plenty of poems about September, but many of them are moody. The end of summer bums some poets out. I was pleased to find this one.
I’d never heard of Helen Hunt Jackson but was intrigued when I found out she was a contemporary of Emily Dickenson. Why have we heard of Emily but not Helen?
Helen Hunt Jackson (1830 – 1885) was a poet and writer who advocated for Native American rights. She wrote a fictional book called Ramona that dealt with Native American mistreatment in Southern California. This book was reprinted 300 times, and people traveled to southern California to see the sights she described. It also led to changes in how Native Americas were treated. She led an interesting life filled with loss and love, and I feel like she could easily have a movie made about her.
She wrote a lot of poetry, and much of it was heavy due to all the loss she suffered (from the death of her first husband and many of her children), but the poem I’m sharing today was more about the season than her life, and I liked her descriptions. Enjoy!
September
by: Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885)
HE golden-rod is yellow;- The corn is turning brown;
- The trees in apple orchards
- With fruit are bending down.
- The gentian’s bluest fringes
- Are curling in the sun;
- In dusty pods the milkweed
- Its hidden silk has spun.
- The sedges flaunt their harvest,
- In every meadow nook;
- And asters by the brook-side
- Make asters in the brook.
- From dewy lanes at morning
- The grapes’ sweet odors rise;
- At noon the roads all flutter
- With yellow butterflies.
- By all these lovely tokens
- September days are here,
- With summer’s best of weather,
- And autumn’s best of cheer.
- But none of all this beauty
- Which floods the earth and air
- Is unto me the secret
- Which makes September fair.
- ‘T is a thing which I remember;
- To name it thrills me yet:
- One day of one September
- I never can forget.