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Poem by Edward Dowden


In September


SPRING scarce had greener fields to show than these
Of mid September; through the still warm noon
The rivulets ripple forth a gladder tune
Than ever in the summer; from the trees
Dusk-green, and murmuring inward melodies,
No leaf drops yet; only our evenings swoon
In pallid skies more suddenly, and the moon
Finds motionless white mists out on the leas.
Dear chance it were in some rough wood-god's lair
A month hence, gazing on the last bright field,
To sink o'er-drowsed, and dream that wild-flowers blew
Around my head and feet silently there,
Till Spring's glad choir adown the valley pealed,
And violets trembled in the morning dew. 



Edward Dowden


Edward Dowden's other poems:
  1. In the Galleries
  2. A Childs Noonday Sleep
  3. The Morning Star
  4. On the Heights
  5. La Révélation par le Désert


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Thomas MacDonagh In September ("The winds are in the wood again to-day")
  • Amy Levy In September ("The sky is silver-grey; the long")

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