Explore "October" by Annie Fellows Johnston on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
ACROSS the stubble fields the lazy breezes pass, / From Autumn orchards sloping southward in the sun, / Where dropping from the low-hung branches, one by one, / The apples hide in tangles of the wind-blown grass.
A warm, sweet scent of mellow fruit fills all the air, / And faintly over hills and hollows comes the cry / Of some shrill bluejay, and his mate's far-off reply.