months

"The sultry summer past, September comes, Soft twilight of the soft-declining year. All mildness, soothing loneliness and peace; The fading season ere the falling come."

"Come out 'tis now September, The hunter's moon's begun, And through the wheaten stubble Is heard the frequent gun."

"The morrow was a bright September morn; The earth was beautiful as if new-born; There was that nameless splendor everywhere, That wild exhilaration in the air, Which makes the passers in the city street Congratulate each other as they meet."

"It was the third of September: That day, I'll always remember. Yes I will, because that was the day that my daddy died."

"Do you remember, the 21st night of September? Love was changing the minds of pretenders, while chasing the clouds away."

"Fie upon thee, November! thou dost ape The airs of thy young sisters, * * * thou hast stolen The witching smile of May to grace thy lip, And April's rare capricious loveliness Thou'rt trying to put on!"

"November's night is dark and drear, The dullest month of all the year."

"On my cornice linger the ripe black grapes ungathered; Children fill the groves with the echoes of their glee, Gathering tawny chestnuts, and shouting when beside them Drops the heavy fruit of the tall black-walnut tree."

"When shrieked The bleak November winds, and smote the woods, And the brown fields were herbless, and the shades That met above the merry rivulet Were spoiled, I sought, I loved them still; they seemed Like old companions in adversity."

"The dusky waters shudder as they shine, The russet leaves obstruct the straggling way Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks define, And the gaunt woods, in ragged scant array, Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy twine."

"Dry leaves upon the wall, Which flap like rustling wings and seek escape, A single frosted cluster on the grape Still hangs—and that is all."

"My sorrow when she's here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree; She walks the sodden pasture lane."

"No park—no ring—no afternoon gentility— No company—no nobility— No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease. No comfortable feel in any member— No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!"

"The dead leaves their rich mosaics Of olive and gold and brown Had laid on the rain-wet pavements, Through all the embowered town."

"Now Neptune's sullen month appears, The angry night cloud swells with tears, And savage storms infuriate driven, Fly howling in the face of heaven! Now, now, my friends, the gathering gloom With roseate rays of wine illume: And while our wreaths of parsley spread Their fadeless foliage round our head, We'll hymn th' almighty power of wine, And shed libations on his shrine!"

"The wild November come at last Beneath a veil of rain; The night wind blows its folds aside, Her face is full of pain. The latest of her race, she takes The Autumn's vacant throne: She has but one short moon to live, And she must live alone."

"Wrapped in his sad-colored cloak, the Day, like a Puritan, standeth Stern in the joyless fields, rebuking the lingering color,— Dying hectic of leaves and the chilly blue of the asters,— Hearing, perchance, the croak of a crow on the desolate tree-top."

"And night descended, October releasing winter to creep forth from its crypt."

"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."

"And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, And the year smiles as it draws near its death."

"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."

"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."

"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?"

"October's foliage yellows with his cold."

"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."

"And close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October's wood."

"Nature delights me most when she mourns"

"I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers."

"Another May new buds and flowers shall bring: Ah! why has happiness no second Spring?"

"A June bad movie has way too much money riding on it to be anything but mediocre and boring. With hundreds of millions of dollars on the line, a crummy June film is going to be test marketed and reshot and reedited to within an inch of its life. By the time it makes its way to you, if it's not working, anything interesting or unusual in it will have been focus-grouped into oblivion so the studio can protect their enormous investment.A January bad movie, on the other hand, receives no such care (or meddling). Why throw good money after bad? Just cut your losses and let the thing really suck. And that's how you wind up with a movie like The Devil Inside, which is so intensely stupid it's almost brilliant—and entirely entertaining. To put it another way: in January, you get trainwrecks. In June, you get controlled demolitions ... In other words, with low financial risk comes the opportunity for high creative risk, an agreeable quality shared by many January releases"

"A proper January movie gets released to thousands of theaters at once—a studio's way of gritting its teeth and ripping off the Band-Aid ... The marketing plan for a film like this is often just a formal wake, the last stop before a film's reincarnation as generic product for the on-demand/DVD/streaming after-markets."

"As full of spirit as the month of May."

"No doubt they rose up early to observe The rite of May."

"In beauty as the first of May."

"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May."

"More matter for a May morning."

"When May, with cowslip-braided locks, Walks through the land in green attire, And burns in meadow-grass the phlox His torch of purple fire: * * * * * * And when the punctual May arrives, With cowslip-garland on her brow, We know what once she gave our lives, And cannot give us now!"

"For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May."

"Among the changing months, May stands confest The sweetest, and in fairest colors dressed."

"May, queen of blossoms, And fulfilling flowers, With what pretty music Shall we charm the hours? Wilt thou have pipe and reed, Blown in the open mead? Or to the lute give heed In the green bowers?"

"For every marriage then is best in tune, When that the wife is May, the husband June."

"What is so sweet and dear As a prosperous morn in May, The confident prime of the day, And the dauntless youth of the year, When nothing that asks for bliss, Asking aright, is denied, And half of the world a bridegroom is And half of the world a bride?"

"If a movie has the makings of a blockbuster and it's getting released in January or February, then it's fairly safe to assume that it sucks. Take Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters as an example. It's got fairy tale/fantasy cred and tons of CGI violence; it’s got a big, bad witch; it's got Academy Award nominee Jeremy Renner. If this flick were any good, it would be coming out in June."

"In the US, January is "dump month" at the movies. The films no studios believe in or care about—the stuff that doesn't get screened for critics, the stuff that barely gets promoted beyond blurbs from obscure websites and suspicious raves from local TV chefs and weathermen—suddenly become the sole choice available to regular filmgoers hungry for fresh fare.A mere matter of days after American screens have been filled with the finest achievements of contemporary cinema (not to mention Dreamgirls) everything changes."

"My idea of movie hell is a place where the floors stick, the sound is half a second out of sync, the person behind me repeats every punchline to his companion and the only films to be seen are the kind that get released in January. It's well known that January films have a character that is, let us say, distinctive. That isn't to call them the year's worst—though many January films certainly have tendencies in that direction—but merely to point out how peculiar they can be. January is to film releasing roughly what the Bermuda Triangle is to navigation ... What is it that leads film distributors to regard January as just the right resting place for so many flukes, black sheep, wild cards and also-rans? Whatever it is, it seems to exert an irresistible pull."

"That blasts of January Would blow you through and through."

"Janus was invoked at the commencement of most actions; even in the worship of the other gods the votary began by offering wine and incense to Janus. The first month in the year was named from him; and under the title of Matutinus he was regarded as the opener of the day. Hence he had charge of the gates of Heaven, and hence, too, all gates, Januæ, were called after him, and supposed to be under his care. Hence, perhaps, it was, that he was represented with a staff and key, and that he was named the Opener (Patulcius), and the Shutter (Clusius)."

"In the under-wood and the over-wood There is murmur and trill this day, For every bird is in lyric mood, And the wind will have its way."

"Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that doth inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing, Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long."

"Ah! my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May: Waiting for the pleasant rambles Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles, With the woodbine alternating, Scent the dewy way; Ah! my heart is weary, waiting, Waiting for the May."