Next time!' In what calendar are kept the records of those next times which never come?

By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.

Who waits until the wind shall silent keep Will never find the ready hour to sow.

The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown, The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down.

When Time is spent, Eternity begins.

Stain my eyes as I may, on all sides all is black.

O month when they who love must love and wed.