Explore "A Calendar of Sonnets" by Helen Hunt Jackson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O golden month! How high thy gold is heaped! / The yellow birch-leaves shine like bright coins strung / On wands; the chestnut's yellow pennons tongue / To every wind its harvest challenge. Steeped / In yellow, still lie fields where wheat was reaped; / And yellow still the corn sheaves, stacked among / The yellow gourds, which from the earth have wrung / Her utmost gold. To highest boughs have leaped / The purple grape, -- last thing to ripen, late / By very reason of its precious cost. / O Heart, remember, vintages are lost / If grapes do not for freezing night-dews wait. / Think, while thou sunnest thyself in Joy's estate, / Mayhap thou canst not ripen without frost!