September! and once more to lie day long
Stretched on my Bedford hills, while all around
A thousand voices drone a drowsy sound
Which to the silence is as word to song;
And dreaming watch, from depths of bearded grass,
Over field and wood the trailing shadows go,
From clouds that float on folded wings, how slow,
Gathering above old Otter’s far blue pass.
All day, like ships becalmed, they drift asleep,
Their shadows drifting on the mountain-side;
But when the wind in full, deep undertone
Pours from the sunset-ridge its freshening tide,
Close over me with kindling sails they sweep,
My argosies from Eldorado blown.