October

As Paul Laurence Dunbar points out, October is a lavish month—spilling her treasures across the earth in radiant hues, adorning herself in extravagant beauty. She does not grieve the fleeting nature of her splendor; she simply revels in it. Oh, to be more like October—dwelling in the brilliant richness of the here and now, unburdened by the shadows of what is yet to come.

October

by Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906)

October is the treasurer of the year,
And all the months pay bounty to her store;
The fields and orchards still their tribute bear,
And fill her brimming coffers more and more
But she, with youthful lavishness,
Spends all her wealth in gaudy dress,
And decks herself in garments bold
Of scarlet, purple, red, and gold.

She heedeth not how swift the hours fly,
But smiles and sings her happy life along;
She only sees above a shining sky;
She only hears the breezes’ voice in song.
Her garments trail the woodlands through,
And gather pearls of early dew
That sparkle, till the roguish Sun
Creeps up and steals them every one.

But what cares she that jewels should be lost,
When all of Nature’s bounteous wealth is hers?
Though princely fortunes may have been their cost,
Not one regret her calm demeanor stirs.
Whole-hearted, happy, careless, free,
She lives her life out joyously,
Nor cares when Frost stalks o’er her way
And turns her auburn locks to gray.

Originally published in The Collected Poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar (Dodd, Mead and Company, 1913)