Fast away the summer passes and even now, just a few days into September, the mornings are darker, the air drier, the maples show their first fan of red leaves.
An energizing time of year. But melancholy too, with reminders like this one that “this same flower that smiles to-day, to-morrow will be dying.”
A friend signed off an email to me with “rosebuds,” which prompted me to look up the poem. Hadn’t remembered it’s actually an admonition to fair young ladies to find a man before they fade. Per the title: To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time.
I prefer to think of it as attached to the seasons, otherwise it’s just kinda mean.