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Sonnets: September  Written by: Helen Hunt Jackson | Biography
 | Quotes (3) |  O golden month! How high thy gold is heaped!
The yellow birch-leaves shine like bright coins strung  On
wands; the chestnut's yellow pennons tongue  To every wind its
harvest challenge. Steeped  In yellow, still lie fields where
wheat was reaped;  And yellow still the corn sheaves, stacked
among  The yellow gourds, which from the earth have wrung  Her
utmost gold. To highest boughs have leaped  The purple grape,--
last thing to ripen, late  By very reason of its precious cost.
O Heart, remember, vintages are lost  If grapes do not for
freezing night-dews wait.  Think, while thou sunnest thyself in
Joy's estate,  Mayhap thou canst not ripen without frost!