Oh, days of the lovely October,
How dear thou art to me;
Words are weak, when my soul would speak,
In language taught by thee.

Not alone do thy glorious sunsets,
Nor thy trees of a thousand dyes,
But all touch my heart with thy sweet spell,
Oh, earth, and air, and skies.

In the gardens that shone with beauty,
The flowers have faded, I know,
And here, by my favorite pathway,
The roses no longer may blow.

But the leaves are burning with splendor,
And I'll weave them in garlands bright,
As I did in the sweet days of childhood,
When my heart was aglow with delight.

I've ruby and sapphire, blended with gold,
And here's an emerald green,
A parting gift, for my coronet,
From summer's dying queen.

Oh, loveliest month of the year,
Too soon will thy glories depart,
But not the sweet faith thou'st wakened,
Within this worshiping heart.

For though, like all beauty of earth,
Thou'rt trammeled by earthly decay,
Yet my soul is lifted by thine,
To glories that fade not away.