“O sweet September thy first breezes bring The dry leaf's rustle and the squirrel's laughter The cool fresh air whence health and vigor spring And promise of exceeding joy hereafter.”

“October turned my maple's leaves to gold The most are gone now here and there one lingers Soon these will slip from out the twig's weak hold Like coins between a dying miser's fingers.”

“If cold December gave you birth The month of snow and ice and mirth Place on your hand a turquoise blue Success will bless what'er you do.”

“Thirty days hath September April June and November All the rest have thirty-one Excepting February alone: Which hath but twenty-eight in fine Till leap year gives it twenty-nine.”