<h2 id="id00171" style="margin-top: 4em">THE OPAL MONTH</h2>
<p id="id00172">Now cometh October—a nut-brown maid,<br/>
Who in robes of crimson and gold arrayed<br/>
Hath taken the king's highway!<br/>
On the world she smiles—but to me it seems<br/>
Her eyes are misty with mid-summer dreams,<br/>
Or memories of the May.<br/></p>
<p id="id00173">Opals agleam in the dusk of her hair<br/>
Flash their hearts of fire and colours rare<br/>
As she dances gaily by—<br/>
Yet she sighs for each empty swinging nest,<br/>
And she tenderly holds against her breast<br/>
A belated butterfly.<br/></p>
<p id="id00174">The crickets sing no more to the stars—<br/>
The spiders no more put up silver bars<br/>
To entangle silken wings;<br/>
But the quail pipes low in the rusted corn,<br/>
And here and there—both at night and at morn—<br/>
A lonely robin still sings.<br/></p>
<p id="id00175">A spice-laden breeze of the south is blent<br/>
With perfumed winds from the Orient<br/>
And they weave o'er her a spell,<br/>
For nun-like she goeth now, still and sweet—<br/>
And while mists like incense curl at her feet,<br/>
She lingers her beads to tell.<br/></p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />
1 of 2
2 of 2
Previous
Next
Update Required
To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.