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poems about august to treasure

11 Poems About August to Treasure

Inside: Poems About August For Last Summer Days.

Depending on where you are, August is the last month of hot summer days before autumn returns in September. It’s also back to school month for lots of the country, so it’s a month full of transitions. 

It’s also HOT. It seems the heat will never recede. So we take our last beach trips, and swim a few more times. It’s a month to relax inside with a cold drink and reflect on summer memories with friends and family. 

We hope you love these August Poems to Treasure, and we hope you’ve had an amazing summer full of precious memories.

Poems about August to Treasure

1. Late August

Change of heart in the dreams I bear—

Green leaf turns to brown;

The second half of the month is here,

The days are closing down.

Love so swift to up and follow

The season’s fugitive,

If thou must, make rapture hollow,

But leave me dreams to live.

Change of heart! O season’s end!

Time and tide and sorrow!

I care not what the Fates may send,

Here’s to ye, goodmorrow!

-William Stanley Braithwaite


2. August

I come! I come! and the waving field

Its wealth of golden grain shall yield.

In the hush and heat of glowing noon,

The insects’ hum is the only tune;

For the merriest birds forget to sing,

And sit in the shade with drooping wing.


But see! how the purpling grapes hang high,

And ripen beneath my sunny sky!

And see! how the fruits of the bending tree

Turn blushing and rosy cheeks to me!

And soon shall your garners be over-full

With gifts from the August bountiful.

august bounty poetry

3. An August Wood Road

When the partridge coveys fly

In the birch-tops cool and high;

When the dry cicadas twang

Where the purpling fir-cones hang;

When the bunch-berries emboss—

Scarlet beads—the roadside moss;

Brown with shadows, bright with sun,

All day long till day is done

Sleeps in murmuring solitude

The worn old road that threads the wood.

In its deep cup—grassy, cool—

Sleeps the little roadside pool;

Sleeps the butterfly on the weed,

Sleeps the drifted thistle-seed.

Like a great and blazing gem,

Basks the beetle on the stem.

Up and down the shining rays

Dancing midges weave their maze.

High among the moveless boughs,

Drunk with day, the night-hawks drowse.

Far up, unfathomably blue,

August’s heaven vibrates through.

The old road leads to all things good;

The year’s at full, and time’s at flood.

-Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

4. August

August days are hot and still,

Not a breath on house or hill,

Not a breath on height or plain,

Weary travelers cry for rain;

But the children quickly find

A shady place quite to their mind;

And there all quietly they stay,

Until the sun has gone away,—

August is too hot for play!

-Annette Wynne

long august days poem

5. August

When my eyes are weeds,

And my lips are petals, spinning

Down the wind that has beginning

Where the crumpled beeches start

In a fringe of salty reeds;

When my arms are elder-bushes,

And the rangy lilac pushes

Upward, upward through my heart;

Summer, do your worst!

Light your tinsel moon, and call on

Your performing stars to fall on

Headlong through your paper sky;

Nevermore shall I be cursed

By a flushed and amorous slattern,

With her dusty laces’ pattern

Trailing, as she straggles by.

-Dorothy Parker

6. In August

BESIDE the country road with truant grace

Wild carrot lifts its circles of white lace.

From vines whose interwoven branches drape

The old stone walls, come pungent scents of grape.

The sumach torches burn; the hardhack glows;

From off the pines a healing fragrance blows;

The pallid Indian pipe of ghostly kin

Listens in vain for stealthy moccasin.

In pensive mood a faded robin sings;

A butterfly with dusky, gold-flecked wings

Holds court for plumy dandelion seed

And thistledown, on throne of fireweed.

The road goes loitering on, till it hath missed

Its way in goldenrod, to keep a tryst,

Beyond the mosses and the ferns that veil

The last faint lines of its forgotten trail,

With Lonely Lake, so crystal clear that one

May see its bottom sparkling in the sun

With many-colored stones. The only stir

On its green banks is of the kingfisher

Dipping for prey, but oft, these haunted nights,

That mirror shivers into dazzling lights,

Cleft by a falling star, a messenger

From some bright battle lost, Excalibur.

-Katharine Lee Bates

73 Leo Quotes for the Lion Inside

7. An August Cricket

When August days are hot and long,

And the August hills are hazy,

And clouds are slow and winds also,

And brooks are low and lazy.

When beats the fierce midsummer sun,

Upon the drying grasses;

A modest minstrel sings his song

To any soul that passes.

A modest, yet insistent bard

Who while the landscape slumbers;

And Nature seems, herself asleep,

Pours out his soul in numbers.

His song is in a tongue unknown,

Yet those, me think, who hear it

Drink in it’s healing melody

Renewed in frame and spirit.

His life is brief as is the leaf

To summer branches clinging!

But yet no thought of death or grief,

He mentions in his singing.

No epic strain is his to sing;—

No tale of loss or glory;—

He has no borrowed heroines;

His heroes are not gory.

He is no scholar; all he knows

Was taught by his condition,

He never studied synthesis,

Nor simple composition.

His lays are all of rustic themes;

Of summer’s joys and treasure

Yet scarce could Homer’s masterpiece,

Afford us keener pleasure.

-Arthur Goodenough


8. Hummingbird Motion

whisperings of wings

deep drone of summer’s old gold

red rose drips petals

only time will tell

of the countless jeweled birds

summoned by the blooms

fanning the breezes

’til the last of orange sun

august night is soon

-Evelyn Judy Buehler

hummingbird poem


No wind, no bird. The river flames like brass.

On either side, smitten as with a spell

Of silence, brood the fields. In the deep grass,

Edging the dusty roads, lie as they fell

Handfuls of shriveled leaves from tree and bush.

But ’long the orchard fence and at the gate,

Thrusting their saffron torches through the hush,

Wild lilies blaze, and bees hum soon and late.

Rust-colored the tall straggling briar, not one

Rose left. The spider sets its loom up there

Close to the roots, and spins out in the sun

A silken web from twig to twig. The air

Is full of hot rank scents. Upon the hill

Drifts the noon’s single cloud, white, glaring, still.

-Lizette Woodworth Reese

10. Warm Summer Sun

Warm summer sun,

Shine kindly here,

Warm southern wind,

Blow softly here.

Green sod above,

Lie light, lie light.

Good night, dear heart,

Good night, good night.

-Mark Twain

mark twain poem summer sun

11. August

The August sun is pouring on the land,

His scorching rays, and vegetation stands

Beseeching to the skies for showers again

And being answered like the prayers of men.

Along the creeks the white rocks heat and glow,

As it some one had built great fires below,

And cattle stand in stagnant pools to fight

The pestering flies that trouble day and night.

In vain we look for those refreshing showers

That come so oft in Spring at call of flowers,

But clouds come to our view, then pass away,

And leave us in despair at close of day.

-Ed Blair

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