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by Lottie Brown Allen

O, golden days! O, quiet, peaceful days!
October’s winsome voice we now can hear,
While all around, her magic wand she plays,
To consummate the crowning of the year.

Behold her ’mid a wealth of golden sheaves,
Most glorious month of all the year, she stands,
Upon her brow a wreath of crimson leaves,
While purple clusters fill her outstretched hands.

How could we know that when the flower-strewn spring
And all the happy summer days were past,
October would this golden mantle fling
To warm our hearts e’er comes the winter’s blast.

Then linger on, fair days of golden light,
And grant to leave in us an after glow,
That shall shine on throughout the winter night,
That shall not pale before the winter snow.