Upon the bank the deep-red flower shone,
Amid the autumn grass, embrowned and sere;
A tiny dew-drop sparkled thereupon
In semblance of a tear.
Above, a flock of tardy birds took flight
Unto the meadows of a sunnier clime;
And in the west gathered the gloomy night,—
The night of autumn time.
Beside the river, flowing to the sea,
Made low lament, blown over by the breeze,
For summer's death; and the same threnody
Sang the wind-shaken trees.
I did not pluck the flower that bloomed so fair,
But left it bannerwise, to swing and wave;
To fade, and mingle with the wan grass there,
Over September's grave.