Here you will find thePoem9月of poet Roderic Quinn
IN wood-hollows mate the swallows, On the house-tops sparrows marry; Where's the laggard that would tarry When the Spring is up and doing, And the doves of Love are cooing? O the lovers she discovers Heart and heart together linking! 'Tis of them, perchance, you're thinking; In this moment's rich completeness Tasting over bygone sweetness. Nay, you gladden not, but sadden At the sight of such surrender To Love's impulse, warm and tender, As yon couple, mingling kisses, Show ? nor dream that aught amiss is. Who supposes summer roses ? When the bee no longer settles On their satin-surfaced petals, Young no more, nor sweet, nor tender, ? View with scorn their pirate's splendour! I remember one September, Light as thistledown or feather, Long with love we strayed together, Careless of wise word or censure, On a quest of sweet adventure. Why and wherefore blame them, therefore? Puppets they ? yon pretty couple ? He so strong and she so supple, Dancing fast, and fast, and faster At the will of Love, their master! Little woman, Love is human, Fickle too, and there's the pity; Never yet was wench so witty, King so strong, or knave so clever As to make him theirs for ever. Though September blows no ember Into flame for you this season, Yet 'tis neither rhyme nor reason Thus to scoff, with chilly phrases, At the flames that she upraises.
