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Bear Bryant
The sweet calm sunshine of October, now Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mould The purple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough Drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.
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Edmund C. Stedman
No clouds are in the morning sky, The vapors hug the stream, Who says that life and love can die In all this northern gleam? At every turn the maples burn, The quail is whistling free, The partridge whirs, and the frosted burs Are dropping for you and me. Ho! hillyho! heigh O! Hillyho! In the clear October morning.
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Thomas Merton
October is a fine and dangerous season in America . . . a wonderful time to begin anything at all.
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Unattributed Author
October's child is born for woe, And life's vicissitudes must know; But lay on Opal on her breast, And hope will lull those woes to rest.
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William Bliss Carman
There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir: We must rise and follow her, When from every hill of flame She calls, and calls each vagabond by name.
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William Cullen Bryant
And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, And the year smiles as it draws near its death.
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William Dean Howells
Is it the shrewd October wind Brings the tears into her eyes? Does it blow so strong that she must fetch Her breath in sudden sighs?
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