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C.N. Douglas, comp.  Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical.  1917.
 
October
 
  October is the opal month of the year. It is the month of glory, of ripeness. It is the picture-month.
Henry Ward Beecher.    
  1
        October’s gold is dim—the forests rot,
The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day
Is wrapped in damp.
David Gray.    
  2
        And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief,
And the year smiles as it draws near its death.
Bryant.    
  3
  October is the month for painted leaves.  *  *  *  As fruits and leaves and the day itself acquire a bright tint just before they fall, so the year near its setting. October is its sunset sky; November the later twilight.
Henry D. Thoreau.    
  4
        Autumn is here; we cull his lingering flowers.
*        *        *        *        *
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.
William Cullen Bryant.    
  5
  October is nature’s funeral month. Nature glories in death more than in life. The month of departure is more beautiful than the month of coming—October than May. Every green thing loves to die in bright colors.
Henry Ward Beecher.    
  6
        O’er hill and field October’s glories fade;
O’er hill and field the blackbirds southward fly;
The brown leaves rustle down the forest glade,
Where naked branches make a fitful shade,
And the lost blooms of Autumn withered lie.
George Arnold.    
  7
        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.
T. B. Aldrich.    
  8
  There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings, as now in October. The sunshine is peculiarly genial; and in sheltered places, as on the side of a bank, or of a barn or house, one becomes acquainted and friendly with the sunshine. It seems to be of a kindly and homely nature. And the green grass strewn with a few withered leaves looks the more green and beautiful for them. In summer or spring nature is farther from one’s sympathies.
Hawthorne.    
  9
 
 
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