O suns and skies and clouds of June, And flowers of June together, Ye cannot rival for one hour October’s bright blue weather;
When loud the bumblebee makes haste, Belated, thriftless vagrant, And goldenrod is dying fast, And lanes with grapes are fragrant;
When gentians roll their fingers tight To save them for the morning, And chestnuts fall from satin burrs Without a sound of warning;
When on the ground red apples lie In piles like jewels shining, And redder still on old stone walls Are leaves of woodbine twining;
When all the lovely wayside things Their white-winged seeds are sowing, And in the fields still green and fair, Late aftermaths are growing;
When springs run low, and on the brooks, In idle golden freighting, Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush Of woods, for winter waiting;
When comrades seek sweet country haunts, By twos and twos together, And count like misers, hour by hour, October’s bright blue weather.
O sun and skies and flowers of June, Count all your boasts together, Love loveth best of all the year October’s bright blue weather.