In the Days of the Golden Rod

(All photos taken at or near Cassandra's upstate New York farmhouse.)

Across the meadow in brooding shadow
I walk to drink of the autumn's wine­
The charm of story, the artist's glory,
To-day on these silvering hills is mine;
On height, in hollow, where'er I follow,
By mellow hillside and searing sod,
Its plumes uplifting, in light winds drifting,
I see the glimmer of golden-rod.

In this latest comer the vanished summer
Has left its sunshine the world to cheer,
And bids us remember in late September
What beauty mates with the passing year.
The days that are fleetest are still the sweetest,
And life is near to the heart of God,
And the peace of heaven to earth is given
In this wonderful time of the golden-rod.

 by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Summer Sunset

(Photos recently taken by Cassandra at her upstate New York farm...)

Sweet day of summer balm and rest,

Oh, stay thy flight!

Still wave, above yon mountain's crest,

Thy banners bright!

Still hold the portals of the west

Against the night!

Lo!  how the waving forest trees

Beckon they stay!

Hark, how the fragrant evening's breeze

Doth woo delay!

While thrushes plead across the leas,

Pass not away!

But though all nature join the cry,

Not yet - not yet!

Behind yon rocky rampart high

Thy sun will set!

Each bird will hush - each floweret's eye

With tears be wet!

E'en now beyond the purpling hill

Thy light hath past:

The woodland shadows, silent chill--

Are o'er me cast.

The while thou wingest, tireless till

Thou gild the east!

The Father knows we cannot bear

Unclouded light;

Therefore each perfect day must share

With darksome night --

Until He bring that dawning fair,

Eternal--bright!

~ George S. Dwight, from The Cool of the Day, 1892