The Golden Land
Francis Turner Palgrave
O sweet September, on the valley
Carved through the green hills, sheer and straight,
"Where the tall trees crowd round and sally
Down the slope sides with stately gait
And sylvan dance ; and in the hollow
Silver voices ripple and cry,
Follow, O follow!
Follow, O follow!—and we follow
Where the white cottages star the slope.
And the white smoke winds o'er the hollow,
And the blithe air is quick with hope;
Till the sun whispers, O remember!
You have but thirty days to run,
O sweet September!
O sweet September, where the valley
Leans out wider and sunny and full,
And the red cliffs dip their feet and dally
With the green billows, green and cool;
And the green billows, archly smiling,
Kiss and cling to them, kiss and leave them,
Bright and beguiling,—
Bright and beguiling as she who glances
Along the shore and the meadows along.
And sings for heart's delight, and dances
Crowned with apples, and niddy and strong;—
Can we see thee and not remember
Thy sun-brown cheek and hair sun-golden,
O sweet September?
Palgrave holidayed in the West Country, at Axminster and Lyme Regis.
