Looking through September images of the Berkshires, we came across a September poem -- "September, 1918" by Amy Lowell. And we found, looking through our archive, that Lowell's longtime companion, Ada Dwyer, once read Lowell's poetry here on a summer day.
So in honor of poetry read aloud, and of new English classes sitting on the college lawns and in classrooms, of writing centers and writing groups, of local bookstores and sunlit September afternoons, we offer a few lines of Lowell's poem this week.
"This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves; ...
The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,
And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under a tree in the park,
Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,
Were carefully gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard box. ..."
For more, see this week's By the Way column.