English poem
I feel the season's dreamy call...
by Theodore H. Rand (1835–1900)
I feel the season's dreamy call In hawkbit, asters, 'pyeweed tall,— Glory of August ere September Trumpet the note of the hasting fall.
A flash in crystal waters cold— O dream in silver, red, and gold— The speckled trout above the gravel Lies by the rock where the stream is rolled!
Grasshoppers chirp and crickets chir, The rich-tagged alders nod and pur, The kine bells drowse the distant pasture,— All nature waits for the coming stir.