Classic and Contemporary Poetry
IN SEPTEMBER, by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE Poet's Biography First Line: Still are the meadowlands, and still Last Line: My lute can never say. Subject(s): September | ||||||||
STILL are the meadowlands, and still Ripens the upland corn, And over the brown gradual hill The moon has dipped a horn. The voices of the dear unknown With silent hearts now call, My rose of youth is overblown And trembles to the fall. My song forsakes me like the birds That leave the rain and grey, I hear the music of the words My lute can never say. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ANOTHER SEPTEMBER by THOMAS KINSELLA THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: JULY by EDMUND SPENSER SEPTEMBER by MAVIS CLARE BARNETT LANGUID SEPTEMBER by ANNE MILLAY BREMER WRITTEN ON A BRIDGE by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH SEPTEMBER by JULIA JOHNSON DAVIS EVENING CLOUDS by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE |
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