October Quotes

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Quotations about October

Merry October! ~Rainbow Rowell, Attachments, 2011

October, Springtide of the soul! What now
May I compare to raptures that return
When round thine auburn hair these eyes discern
First the wild purple berries kiss thy brow?
~Arthur Upson, "Springtide of the Soul," The Tides of Spring and Other Poems, 1907

The pears now are mellow,
The pumpkins are yellow,
Ripe chestnuts are falling,
The late birds are calling,
To gold, leaves are turning,
Great bonfires are burning,
The pecker is drumming,
The bees still go humming,
The sunshine comes streaming—
Ah, can folk be dreaming?
Why say they you're sober,
You jolly October?
~Wilhelmina Seegmiller, "Jolly October," Sing a Song of Seasons, 1914

October, ruddy-cheeked, comes o'er the plains,
And as with rustling step it speeds along,
Its feet beat music to the harvest song...
~Albert Laighton (1829–1887), "October," c.1859

October is the month for painted leaves.... As fruits and leaves and the day itself acquire a bright tint just before they fall, so the year near its setting. October is its sunset sky; November the later twilight. ~Henry David Thoreau, "Autumnal Tints"

October, I lo'e thee! Thy whisper is soothing;
There is Lore in thy face, there is wealth in thy bowers:
Thy pensiveness adds but a charm to my musing—
And sweet are my dreams through thy fast ebbing hours!
~James Rigg, "October," Wild Flower Lyrics and Other Poems, 1897

October is crisp days and cool nights, a time to curl up around the dancing flames and sink into a good book. ~John Sinor (1930–1996), in San Diego Union-Tribune

October is brown
In field and row —
Yet goldenrod
And goldenglow,
Purple asters
And ruddy oaks,
Sumach spreading
Crimson cloaks,
Apples red
And pumpkins gold—?
Perhaps it's gayer
To be old!
~Marjorie Allen Seiffert, "October Morning," A Woman of Thirty, 1919

October sunshine bathed the park with such a melting light that it had the dimmed impressive look of a landscape by an old master. Leaves, one, two at a time, sidled down through the windless air. ~Elizabeth Enright, "Apple Seed and Apple Thorn," 1953

The month of carnival of all the year,
When Nature lets the wild earth go its way
And spend whole seasons on a single day.
~Helen Fiske Hunt Jackson (1830–1885), "October"

Glorious October: I think of it as the golden month. There's goldenrod in the fields; the sunshine is melted honey; the foliage flames with orange, red, and gold. The days are warm and mellow, the nights sharp and cool. A man feels alive and full of energy and only slightly sad. ~Charles H. Knickerbocker, Summer Doctor, 1963

October in scarlet and russet and grey
Is hymning of Plenty and wine...
How calm is the morn! In high treble the stream
Is singing in rambling measure
Like a bard all enrapt that would catch on a theme
In the mazes of Fancy and pleasure!
~James Rigg, "Nutting Time," Wild Flower Lyrics and Other Poems, 1897

October's poplars are flaming torches lighting the way to winter. ~Nova Schubert Bair (1911–2009), in Capper's Weekly

The softened light, the veiling haze,
The calm repose of autumn days,
Steal gently o'er the troubled breast,
Soothing life's weary cares to rest.
~Phebe A. Holder, "A Song of October," in The Queries Magazine, October 1890

October was a beautiful month at Green Gables, when the birches in the hollow turned as golden as sunshine and the maples behind the orchard were royal crimson and the wild cherry trees along the lane put on the loveliest shades of dark red and bronzy green, while the fields sunned themselves in the aftermaths. Anne reveled in the world of color about her.... "I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn't it?..." ~Lucy Maud Montgomery (1874–1942), Anne of Green Gables, 1908

October gave a party;
The leaves by hundreds came—
The Ashes, Oaks and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand;
Miss Weather led the dancing;
Professor Wind, the band... The sight was like a rainbow
New-fallen from the sky...
~George Cooper, "October's Party," in School Education, 1887

From the latter weeks of October to Christmas-eve... is the period during which happiness is in season, which, in my judgment, enters the room with the tea-tray... ~Thomas De Quincey (1785–1859), Confessions of an English Opium-Eater

Come! let us draw the curtains,
heap up the fire, and sit
hunched by the flame together,
and make a friend of it.
Listen! the wind is rising,
and the air is wild with leaves,
we have had our summer evenings:
now for October eves!
~Humbert Wolfe, "Autumn (Resignation)," Humoresque, 1926

Down through the ancient Strand
The spirit of October, mild and boon
And sauntering, takes his way
This golden end of afternoon,
As though the corn stood yellow in all the land
And the ripe apples dropped to the harvest-moon.
~William Ernest Henley, "London Voluntaries," 1892

On the whole I take it that middle age is a happier period than youth. In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October, when the trees are bare to the mild heavens, and the red leaves bestrew the road, and you can feel the breath of winter morning and evening—no days so calm, so tenderly solemn, and with such a reverent meekness in the air. ~Alexander Smith (1829–1867), "An Essay on an Old Subject"

October is a hallelujah! reverberating in my body year-round.... ~John Nichols (b.1940), The Last Beautiful Days of Autumn

A brooding calm in all the air,
A dreamy quiet everywhere...
A golden glow to light the day
That fades in purple mists away—
This soothing calm, this presence bright,
October's sweet and mellow light.
~Phebe A. Holder, "A Song of October," in The Queries Magazine, October 1890

There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings, as now in October. The sunshine is particularly genial.... It seems to be of a kindly and homely nature. And the green grass, strewn with a few withered leaves, looks the more green and beautiful for them. In summer or spring, Nature is farther from one's sympathies. ~Nathaniel Hawthorne, journal, 1841 October 7th

Oh, hazy month of glowing trees,—
And colors rich to charm our eyes!
Yet—not less fair than all of these
Are Mother's fragrant pumpkin pies!
~Louise Bennett Weaver and Helen Cowles LeCron, "October," A Thousand Ways to Please a Husband with Bettina's Best Recipes, 1917

It was a late-October Sunday, the leaves tinged with brown, and the air crisp in a way that made you shiver if you stood still too long. ~Joseph Kita, "Growing Old and Staying Young," Wisdom of Our Fathers, 1999

A glorious crown the year puts on... ~Phebe A. Holder, "A Song of October," in The Queries Magazine, October 1890

Pale amber sunlight falls across
The reddening October trees....
~Ernest Dowson (1867–1900), "Autumnal"

These trees have drunk the sun.
Fire-filled, their strength
Breaks into clarion color on the hills —
Maples with a strange new energy
Burn in the wind,
And sumac kindles to a darker flame.
In all the torch-lit wood
Only the blanched ferns are dim,
Crushed beneath the air they break
With a slight sound of foam.
~Rachel Grant, "October Death," c.1929

October is Nature's funeral month. Nature glories in death more than in life. The month of departure is more beautiful than the month of coming — October than May. Every green thing loves to die in bright colors. ~Henry Ward Beecher (1813–1887)

The air is warm and winey-sweet...
Wild grapes are ripening on the hill,
Dead leaves curl thickly at my feet...
There's a rich quietness of earth...
And like a cup, Today is filled
With the last wine the year shall pour.
~Marjorie Allen Seiffert, "October Afternoon," A Woman of Thirty, 1919

The clear light that belongs to October was making the landscape radiant. ~Florence Bone (1875–1971), The Morning of To‑Day, 1907

I saw the poet, pensive, musing, stray
Amid the glories of October's portals.
Bright crimson fruits shone far in bright array—
While falling leaves bespoke the life of mortals!
The Beech flashed far its flame o'er fading woods—
Fading, yet fragrant, and of many a hue—
(Fit emblem of the poet's varied moods)
While dappled clouds sailed o'er their sea of blue.
~James Rigg, "October Musings," Wild Flower Lyrics and Other Poems, 1897

I have been younger in October
than in all the months of spring...
~W.S. Merwin (1927–2019), "The Love of October"

But in October what a feast to the eye our woods and groves present! The whole body of the air seems enriched by their calm, slow radiance. They are giving back the light they have been absorbing from the sun all summer. ~John Burroughs (1837–1921), "The Falling Leaves," Under the Maples

Hearken my chant, 'tis
As a Bacchante's,
A grape-spurt, a vine-splash, a tossed tress, flown vaunt 'tis!
Suffer my singing,
Gipsy of Seasons, ere thou go winging;
Ere Winter throws
His slaking snows
In thy feasting-flagon's impurpurate glows!
The sopped sun—toper as ever drank hard—
Stares foolish, hazed,
Rubicund, dazed,
Totty with thine October tankard.
~Francis Thompson (1859–1907), "A Corymbus for Autumn"

Hail, old October, bright and chill,
First freedman from the summer sun!
Spice high the bowl, and drink your fill!
Thank heaven, at last the summer's done!
~Thomas Constable (1812–1881), "Old October"

May God bless us in the year upon which we are just entering! October is our January.... And what a beautiful month October is in which to begin! It is the opal month of the year. It is the month of glory, of ripeness. I love to think that when the summer, with all its fulness of innate beauty, has gone through its course, and is about to die, it knows how to break out with more gorgeous beauty, and die with more glory on its head than it had in its positive freshness and vernal beauty. ~Henry Ward Beecher, "Back Again," sermon, 1869 October 1st

October sets thy leaves ablaze,
And warms my muse to sing thy praise,
Dear Bramble!... And truth to tell,
In manhood's years thou fling'st a spell
To charm my eyes or please my taste,
While Autumn doth to Winter haste!
~James Rigg, "To the Bramble," Wild Flower Lyrics and Other Poems, 1897

The sunlight sleeps in valleys cool,
And sparkles on the dimpling pool,
Slants through the pines in yellow gleams,
Enwraps the hills in warm, bright beams;
The calm day done, soft shadows glide
From forest depth and mountain side,
The harvest moon with purest light
Comes forth to glory-crown the night.
~Phebe A. Holder, "A Song of October," in The Queries Magazine, October 1890

October is not only a beautiful month but marks the precious yet fleeting overlap of hockey, baseball, basketball, and football. ~Jason Love, www.jasonlove.com

I'm shod with mist and crowned with fire;
I wear the opal of desire...
I have the Scorpion for my star,
And all fair things my kindred are...
~Nora Chesson, "October," The Happy Maid and Other Poems, 1906

And I would have my soul look the same:
I cannot keep the look of youth,
But how October maples flame —
Age takes our beauty, gives us truth,
Age takes our wit, and makes us wise,
Age gives us life's October skies
And old October's mellower days,
A better time a thousand ways.
~Douglas Malloch (1877–1938), "Make Me Mellow"

For anyone who lives in the oak-and-maple area of New England there is a perennial temptation to plunge into a purple sea of adjectives about October. ~Hal Borland, c.1961

Then let us swill, Boys, for our Health;
Who drinks well, loves the Commonwealth.
And he that will to Bed go sober,
Falls with the Leaf still in October.
~Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, The Bloody Brother; or, Rollo, a Tragedy, 1718 [Act II, Scene II — from "The Drinking Song" —tεᖇᖇ¡·g]

The windows were long and wide and stood open. Outside the sky was deep with October's blue; the air was brimming over with October's snap and sparkle; the gay leaves were rustling in the merry October wind. Beyond the hedge lay the woods full of asters and gentians and chestnuts. ~Helen Ward Banks, "The One Who Told Tales," 1895

Sweet October, fill with praise,
Rich and glowing as thy days,
Every poet's heartfelt lays.
~Caroline May, 1887

The leaves are falling all around,—
Reluctant, waveringly they fall!...
Time's annual shades are gathering,
And winter's coming step I see!...
We hear, but heed not, nature's knell;
We see, but mark not, time's decay;
We cling to pleasure's flowery spell,
Till ev'ry leaf has dropped away.
~Caroline E. Richardson, "Stanzas, Written in October," c.1832

Then summer fades and passes, and October comes. Will smell smoke then, and feel an unsuspected sharpness, a thrill of nervous, swift elation, a sense of sadness and departure. ~Thomas Wolfe (1900–1938), You Can't Go Home Again

If this be October, then, this dark-eyed, ruddy maid,
With the amber in her tresses,
All in gold arrayed,
Let me sing yet while she dresses
The still woods
And the scarlet sumach solitudes!
~Arthur Upson, "October Song," Westwind Songs, 1902

The woodlands now are tinged with gorgeous dyes,
And seem to borrow from the sunset skies
Their varied tints: but soon, too soon, the leaves
Will fall like tears above the Summer's grave,
The lingering birds will sing their parting lay,
And o'er this brightness withering to decay,
The chill November blast will beat and rave.
O, fading glories of the Autumn hour...
~Albert Laighton (1829–1887), "October," c.1859

So winsome, bonnie, blithe, and gay!
October greets thee, sad and sere;
Her falling tresses round thee play—
Bright rearguard of the floral year!
~James Rigg, "To the Corn Marigold," Wild Flower Lyrics and Other Poems, 1897 [Chrysanthemum Segetum —tεᖇᖇ¡·g]

Now golden October, crowned with the grape, is singing,
While the javelin winds against the winds are hurled,
Glorious from the blue the sun is flinging
His rain-rinsed brilliance on the vivid world:
And the wine-mad month in red and gold regalia,
Scattering leaves, sowing valley and hill,
Goes out dancing to death in a Bacchanalia,
Laughing, singing, for she dies with a will.
Fully lived has the year, so she dies in laughter:
For all that spends itself, is ready for death...
~James Oppenheim, "Sonnets: XII," War and Laughter, 1916

October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy draughts that bit at exposed hands and faces. ~J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, "The Lion and the Serpent," 2003

The forest princely robes receives,
Inwrought with gold and crimson leaves,
With fairy tints and brilliant dyes
Like sunset's glory-lighted skies.
Now, rainbow-clad, the Year walks forth
With meekly step upon the earth;
With eye serene she looks abroad,
Her work she sees, and all is good.
~Phebe A. Holder, "A Song of October," in The Queries Magazine, October 1890

October is the fallen leaf, but it is also a wider horizon more clearly seen. It is the distant hills once more in sight, and the enduring constellations above them once again. ~Hal Borland (1900–1978)

Dry your barley in October,
Or you'll always be sober.
~English folk-rhyme, first printed c.1846 [Because if this is not done, there will be no malt! —tεᖇᖇ¡·g]

The door-yard trees put on their autumn bloom,
Purple and gold and crimson rich and strong,
That stain the light, and give my lonesome room
An atmosphere of sunset all day long.
~Elizabeth Chase Akers Allen (1832–1911), "October," c.1866

Warm October breeze
billows the sails of autumn,
floating summer's freight.
~Cave Outlaw (1900–1996)

When the spent year its carol sinks
Into a humble psalm,
Asks no more for the pleasure draught,
But for the cup of balm,
And all its storms and sunshine-bursts
Controls to one brave calm,—
Then step by step walks autumn,
With steady eyes that show
Nor grief nor fear, to the death of the year,
While the equinoctials blow.
~Dinah Mulock Craik (1826–1887), "October"

[A]nd now I might
As happy be as earth is beautiful...
~Edward Thomas (1878-1917), "October"

October is fresh-faced April beautifully aged to wisdom. ~Terri Guillemets

Ripe are October's glories: Come away!
Hushed are the waiting woods: their rustling robes
Of mildest tints, create within my soul
Emotions meet for melancholy song!
~James Rigg, "The Poet's Ramble in October," Wild Flower Lyrics and Other Poems, 1897

A beauty lights the fading year... ~Phebe A. Holder, "A Song of October," in The Queries Magazine, October 1890

It is no joy to me to sit
On dreamy summer eves,
When silently the timid moon
Kisses the sleeping leaves,
And all things through the fair hush'd earth
Love, rest—but nothing grieves.
Better I like old autumn
With his hair toss'd to and fro,
Firm striding o'er the stubble fields
When the equinoctials blow.
~Dinah Mulock Craik (1826–1887), "October"

It was October again... a glorious October, all red and gold, with mellow mornings when the valleys were filled with delicate mists as if the spirit of autumn had poured them in for the sun to drain — amethyst, pearl, silver, rose, and smoke-blue. The dews were so heavy that the fields glistened like cloth of silver and there were such heaps of rustling leaves in the hollows of many-stemmed woods to run crisply through. ~Lucy Maud Montgomery (1874–1942), Anne of Green Gables, 1908

Never is my heart so gay
In the budding month of May,
Never does it beat a tune
Half so sweet in bloomy June,
Never knows such happiness
As on such a day as this,
When October dons her crown,
And the leaves are turning brown.
Breathe, sweet children, soft regrets
For the vanished violets;
Sing, young lovers, the delights
Of the golden summer nights;—
~Elizabeth Chase Akers Allen (1832–1911), "When the Leaves Are Turning Brown," c.1866

In shadowy woods the brown nuts fall
As sweeps the wind through tree tops tall...
In golden bars through leafy doors
The sunshine falls on forest floors...
~Phebe A. Holder, "A Song of October," in The Queries Magazine, October 1890

September is dressing herself in showy dahlias and splendid marigolds and starry zinnias. October, the extravagant sister, has ordered an immense amount of the most gorgeous forest tapestry for her grand reception. ~Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809–1894), "Autumn," The Atlantic Almanac, 1868

Well, the crickets still sing in October
And Lily's still trying to bloom
Though she's resting her head on the shoulder of death
She still shines by the light of the moon...
Well, the sun's setting quicker and colder
Than the last time you saw it in June
And the tree colors fade to a dark shade of grey
When they're lit by the fire and the moon...
~Kevin Dalton, "The Fire And The Moon" (Faubush Hill)

Hail! nec tamen consumebatur!—
Lov'd flame of the forest once green!
How November thy glory shall scatter—
And I'll sigh for the light that hath been.
In thy yellow-green robe in the Spring time—
To me thy soft mantle was dear;
But I love thee to-day in thy garb of Decay
And thy crown of rich beauty all sere!
~James Rigg, "To a Beech Tree in October," Wild Flower Lyrics and Other Poems, 1897 [Translation of Latin phrase: Yet it was not consumed, i.e. burned but not consumed, like to the burning bush in Exodus. —tεᖇᖇ¡·g]

...in crimson raiment,
Ripe October offers
Earth her gold in payment.
Gold for all the green leaves,
Fruit and grain attendant;
Gold for power existing
And for bloom resplendent...
~Sara L. Vickers Oberholtzer, "October Reckoning," Souvenirs of Occasions, 1892

Some would have Spring within the heart,
But I, some mellow month in mine
Like old October: flowers depart,
And even youth must resign —
But always, brothers, there are some
To whom no Winters ever come:
Always October skies are theirs,
Even amid life's wintry cares.
~Douglas Malloch (1877–1938), "Make Me Mellow"

Mellow as mellowed words such thoughts prepare—
Soft as the voice of Love, borne on thy evening air...
Making the year seem young, tho' growing old;
So Love grows sober as our years are told!
~James Rigg, "Ode to October," Wild Flower Lyrics and Other Poems, 1897

The mug of cider simmered slow,
The apples sputtered in a row,
And, close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October's wood.
~John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892), Snow-bound

October... is the crisp month, when leaves make their crepitant music over brittle grass and frosty paving, lifting now and again in tiny whirlpools of aerial stunting, only to fall and fragmentize on earth and continue their delicately mad pattering until they are dust and of the ground and root once more and wait only the sun and the years to green again the spring. It is the vagabond month... ~Charles Lee, "October," An Almanac of Reading, 1940

Say! October, how in thunder
Do you keep so young, I wonder?
You're no chicken, and you know it,
Yet, old man, for all you show it,
You might, on a sunny day,
Pass for April or for May.
See, your house is falling round you,
Yet you're laughing — say! confound you,
What's the secret? How'd you do it?
Mist and moisture? Ah, I knew it!
A pipe! A mug! October brew,
Fill up — October — here's to you!
~Oliver Herford, "October," The Smoker's Year Book, 1908

October is a mighty month... ~Emily Dickinson, 1885

What glimpses of grape-stained faces,
What dancing of dripping feet?
Can it be, my heart, can it be,
That hugged in the arms of unconquered Death
Golden October glories?
She glories: she goes out in shouts of color:
Woodland with woodland take hands
Dancing mad Bacchanals…
The plum is squeezed, and the apple is pressed,
The grapes are trampled…
Wine! wine! the west wind sings, flinging long garlands of leaves.
And the year that has greatly lived, goes laughing to death…
She slays herself with the bright blade of the west wind,
And with glittering arrows of the frost.
She decks herself for the burial, in no funeral black,
But in royal crimson and gold…
O sinks not the sun in splendor,
His going-down the glory of the day?
So sinks the year, with sunset colors, into the evening of winter,
Triumphant in defeat,
Victorious in death…
~James Oppenheim, "Golden Death," War and Laughter, 1916

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
To-morrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all...
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow,
Make the day seem to us less brief...
At noon release another leaf...
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
~Robert Frost, "October," A Boy's Will, 1913

A misty October morning with temperatures in the forties. Into the soup pot with the last of the summer garden's bounty. ~@CoffeeZen, tweet, 2009

come scarlet leaves and falling light
this time of year — October-blood
runs through the veins of autumn —
slowing heartbeat and longer breaths
shorter daytimes and chilling nights
warm hearts and sanguine thoughts
~Terri Guillemets

October... There's a chill in the air that lifts my heart and makes my hair stand on end. Every moment feels meant for me. ~Rainbow Rowell, Attachments, 2011

Suns and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather...
O suns and skies and flowers of June,
Count all your boasts together,
Love loveth best of all the year
October's bright blue weather.
~Helen Jackson, "October's Bright Blue Weather," c.1873

October, here's to you. Here's to the heady aroma of the frost-kissed apples, the winey smell of ripened grapes, the wild-as-the-wind smell of hickory nuts, and the nostalgic whiff of that first wood smoke. ~Ken Weber, in Providence Journal-Bulletin

October days are stealing
All swiftly on their way;
The squirrels now are working,
The leaves are out at play;
The busy, busy children
Are gathering nuts so brown,
The birds are gayly planning
A winter out of town.
~Clara L. Strong, "October," c.1906

My hobby is perpetually counting down the days until October. ~Keith Wynn, tweet, 2021

The sentry sun, that glared so long
O'erhead, deserts his summer post...
~Thomas Constable (1812–1881), "Old October"

Mark how the forest now hath doffed its green,
And Nature dons her cloak of many hues;
Now reigns the holy beauty of Decay!
How calmly sleeps the lake: the coloured woods
Reflected on its face in thousand tints...
Like rainbows wreck'd, all the gay woods do sing...
~James Rigg, "The Poet's Ramble in October," Wild Flower Lyrics and Other Poems, 1897

In a garment of yellow and carnation, upon his head a garland of oake leaves, with the acornes; in his right hand the sign of Scorpio; in his left a basket of servises, medlers, and chestnuts, and other fruits, that ripen at the later time of the year; his robe is of the colour of the leaves and flowers decaying. This moneth was called Domitianus in the time of Domitian by his edict and commandment; but after his death, by the decree of the Senate, it took the name of October, every one hating the name and memory of so detestable a tyrant. ~Henry Peacham (1576–1644), Gentleman's Exercise

O'er hill and field October's glories fade;
O'er hill and field the blackbirds southward fly;
The brown leaves rustle down the forest glade,
Where naked branches make a fitful shade
And the last blooms of autumn withered lie.
~George Arnold (1834–1865), "October"

As dyed in blood, the streaming vines appear,
While long and low the wind about them grieves;
The heart of Autumn must have broken here
And poured its treasure out upon the leaves.
~Charlotte Fiske Bates, "Woodbines in October," 1877

The end of the summer is not the end of the world. Here's to October... ~A.A. Milne (1882–1956), "A Word for Autumn," Not That It Matters [Truth be told, this essay is really in praise of celery more than any month or season. —tεᖇᖇ¡·g]

Come mild October, mellow, meek, demure;
Drop in my vacant heart thy soothing treasures;
Thy woodland gardens make the spirit pure
And strike to sober tones the poet's measures!
~James Rigg, "October Musings," Wild Flower Lyrics and Other Poems, 1897

Ah, the days may be sullen and sober,
The nights may be stormy and cold;
But, for him who has eyes to behold,
The violets bloom in October!
~Elizabeth Chase Akers Allen (1832–1911), "An Autumn Violet," c.1866 [Chase's pen name was Florence Percy. —tεᖇᖇ¡·g]

We stood at the edge of the forest,
The friend of my heart and I,
Where the sunset glow of the dogwood
Met the sunset glow of the sky.
The breath of the coming winter
Came down from the pine-clad hill;
Its shadow crept over the landscape
And over our hearts its chill.
~Edith Palmer, "October Violets," c.1872

It was one of those perfect New York October afternoons, when the explosion of oranges and yellows against the bright blue sky makes you feel like your life is passing through your fingers, that you've felt this autumn-feeling before and you'll probably get to feel it again, but one day you won't anymore, because you'll be dead. ~Sarah Dunn, Secrets to Happiness, 2009

My child came to me with the equinox,
The wild wind blew him to my swinging door,
With flakes of tawny foam from off the shore,
And shivering spindrift whirled across the rocks...
October, shot with flashing rays and rains,
Inhabits all his pulses...
~May Gillington Byron (1861–1936), "The Storm-Child"

The air is chill—the fields are bare—the wind
Sighs mournfully among the withering boughs—
The golden sun descends, and leaves behind
A sky, cold, but most beautiful, that shows
Upon its saffron breast, in calm repose,
Cloudlets of every hue, through which is seen
The waning moon—the night's once worshipp'd Queen...
~John Craig, "An October Evening," c.1827

On the scarlet mountains yonder,
Summer lies down to die;
She gathers her robes of splendor
Around her royally.
Her minions, the lowly grasses,
Are weeping about her bed,
And her gentle maiden mosses
Pillow her dying head.
~Mary Clemmer (1831–1884), "An October Idyl"

Yellow leaves, how fast they flutter—woodland hollows thickly strewing,
Where the wan October sunbeams scantly in the mid-day win,
While the dim gray clouds are drifting, and in saddened hues imbuing
All without and all within!
~Jean Ingelow, "Poems Written on the Deaths of Three Lovely Children..." c.1871

Over October's fields what Spirit broods
With umber in her thoughts?...
~Arthur Upson (1877–1908), "Postlude"

That distant mountain seemed a cloud
Or like a melting opal rather,
With such a gracious light endowed,
That lingering October weather.
~Harriet McEwen Kimball (1834–1917), "The Lingering October Weather," Poems, 1889

An October sort of city even in spring. ~Nelson Algren, Chicago: City on the Make, 1951

My ornaments are fruits; my garments leaves,
Woven like cloth of gold, and crimson dyed;
I do not boast the harvesting of sheaves,
O'er orchards and o'er vineyards I preside.
Though on the frigid Scorpion I ride,
The dreamy air is full, and overflows
With tender memories of the summer-tide,
And mingled voices of the doves and crows.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "The Poet's Calendar: October"

August bears corn,
September fruit;
In rough October
Earth must disrobe her...
~Christina G. Rossetti (1830–1894), Sing-Song: A Nursery Rhyme Book, 1872

Fresh October brings the pheasant,
Then to gather nuts is pleasant...
~Sara Coleridge (1802–1852), "The Months"

October round her snowy neck
Bright Nightshade berries hung...
Then for a crown both rich and rare,
Of beauties manifold,
She placed upon the goddess' head
The bright Corn-marigold!
~James Rigg, "The Progress of Queen Flora, Adorned by a Hundred Wild Flowers," Wild Flower Lyrics and Other Poems, 1897

October's Autumn
casts a gentle light
and a calm serenity
before the stark
barrenness of Winter
is born to November
~Terri Guillemets

Ah, the morn may be solemn and sober,
And sombre and cheerless the eve,
But, for those who have souls to perceive,
The violets bloom in October!
~Elizabeth Chase Akers Allen (1832–1911), "An Autumn Violet," c.1866

October, russet matron of the year,—
Waving adieu to Autumn's golden train—
Spreading abroad thy banner red and sere
To welcome Winter from the north again...
Of all the pacing months thou'rt dearly mine...
[R]ound thy sober brows red berries twine,
Half hid in Holly smooth, and scented sprigs of Pine.
~James Rigg, "Ode to October," Wild Flower Lyrics and Other Poems, 1897

Oh, come to the woods, the merry green woods,
While gaily the autumn leaves fall.
Just look overhead, 'mid leaves brown and red,
The squirrels all chatter and call,
"October is here, the Queen of the Year,
Merry, merry, October!"
Oh, out in the woods, the merry green woods,
The fairies their revels will keep;
Then, when it is dark, comes the Frost Spirit—hark!
He is singing the flowers to sleep!
"October is here, the Queen of the Year,
Merry, merry October!"
~Author unknown, early 1900s

October breathed poetry —
beautiful and glowing
~Terri Guillemets, "Tenth verse," 2018, blackout poetry created from Octave Mirbeau, The Diary of a Chambermaid, 1891–1900, page 141

"I love October," she said, looking away from the street. "Don't you love October?"
"This is still September."
"I can love October in September. September doesn't care." ~Dean Koontz, The Darkest Evening of the Year, 2007

Ah, September! You are the doorway to the season that awakens my soul... but I must confess that I love you only because you are a prelude to my beloved October. ~Peggy Toney Horton

Is it really here – my favorite month? Is it time, once again, to enjoy thirty-one days of splendid color, clear blue, cloudless skies and cool sunny afternoons? Time for those familiar stirrings inside? I've had those stirrings in October since I was very young. ~Peggy Toney Horton, "Familiar Stirrings," 2015 September 29th, www.pegylu.net

October's child is born for woe,
And life's vicissitudes must know,
But lay an opal on her breast,
And hope will lull those woes to rest.
~Author unknown, c.1870

The flora of the year is past—
Adown the lanes I ramble,
The faded leaves are falling fast,
Yet jetty hangs the Bramble.
~James Rigg, "The Bramble in October," Wild Flower Lyrics and Other Poems, 1897

You walk very stout, you're a fine healthy fellow,
But why do you shake the tall trees?
You scatter their leaves with a whoop and a bellow,
You leave them all bare by degrees.
Choice beer you can make, tho' you look sly and sober;
Your breath makes the road clean and dry.
Who are you? — "My love, I am merry October;
No mortal so healthy as I."
~A Young Lady, "The Twelve," early 1800s [a little altered —tg]

Solitary converse with nature; for thence are ejaculated sweet and dreadful words never uttered in libraries. Ah! the spring days, the summer dawns, the October woods! ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Spring's wakening bugle long is hushed,
Long dimm'd is Summer's splendour;
October yields her easel bright
To "black and white" November!
~James Rigg, "November," Wild Flower Lyrics and Other Poems, 1897

A new planet, but one in which all 12 months of the year are October. ~Keith Wynn, tweet, 2020

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