Poems about the Weather

A visitor requested the details of a poem she remembered from childhood which contained the words " October's bright blue weather". The words were provided by Stephanie together with two other poems with the subject of weather. As the first two poems were over 100 years old, they were about weather and they rhymed, they have been included on this site, even though they are not folklore. Three out of four selection criteria is fairly good.
This poem can be found in:
Jackson, Helen. Poems. Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1893. Stevenson, Burton Egbert, ed.
The Home Book of Verse for Young Folks. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1915.

October's Bright Blue Weather
by Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885)
 
O SUNS and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather;
 
When loud the bumble-bee makes haste,
Belated, thriftless vagrant,
And Golden-Rod is dying fast,
And lanes with grapes are fragrant;
 
When Gentians roll their fringes tight
To save them for the morning,
And chestnuts fall from satin burrs
Without a sound of warning;
 
When on the ground red apples lie
In piles like jewels shining,
And redder still on old stone walls
Are leaves of woodbine twining;
 
When all the lovely wayside things
Their white-winged seeds are sowing,
And in the fields, still green and fair,
Late aftermaths are growing;
 
When springs run low, and on the brooks,
In idle golden freighting,
Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush
Of woods, for winter waiting;
 
When comrades seek sweet country haunts,
By twos and twos together,
And count like misers, hour by hour,
October's bright blue weather.
 
O suns and skies and flowers of June,
Count all your boasts together,
Love loveth best of all the year
October's bright blue weather.
The contributor of "October's Bright Blue Weather" writes :-
Helen Hunt Jackson also wrote the below poem that my mom remembers from her childhood:

The goldenrod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown
The trees in apple orchards
With fruits are bending down.
 
The gentian's bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun:
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.
 
The sedges flaunt their harvest,
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brookside
Make asters in the brook.
 
From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes' sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.
 
By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer's best of weather
And autumn's best of cheer.
 


 
The contibutor then adds :-
Finally, a favorite about my birth month, July, by Susan Hartley Swett:
 
Please send your favourite weather poem to email
July
When the scarlet cardinal tells
Her dream to the dragonfly,
And the lazy breeze
Makes a nest in the trees,
And murmurs a lullaby,
It is July.
 
When the tangled cobweb pulls
The cornflower's cap awry,
And the lilies tall
Lean over the wall
To bow to the butterfly,
It is July.
 
When the heat like a mist veil floats,
And poppies flame in the rye,
And the silver note
In the streamlet's throat
Has softened almost to a sigh,
It is July.
 
When the hours are so still that time
Forgets them, and lets them lie
'Neath petals pink
'til the night stars wink
At sunset in the sky,
It is July.
Seasons
  January brings the snow, Makes our feet and fingers glow.
  February brings the rain, Thaws the frozen lake again.
  March brings breezes sharp and chill, Shakes the dancing daffodil.
  April brings the primrose sweet, Scatters daisies at our feet.
  May brings flocks of pretty lambs, Sporting round their fleecy dams.
  June brings tulips, lilies, roses, Fills the children ‘ s hands with posies.
  Hot July brings thunder-showers, Apricots, and gilly-flowers.
  August brings the sheaves of corn; Then the harvest home is borne.
  Warm September brings the fruit; Sportsmen then begin to shoot.
  Brown October brings the pheasant, Then to gather nuts is pleasant.
  Dull November brings the blast-- Hark! the leaves are whirling fast.
  Cold December brings the sleet, Blazing fire, and Christmas treat.

From Joyce - 2 May 2007
Do you know the poem about rain that starts out:
Mary went over the mountain
If it rains on the day she goes...
I heard it once and found it interesting, do you know the whole poem and can you tell me anything about it? Can anyone help with this request.