September has come, it is hersWhose vitality leaps in the autumn, Whose nature prefersTrees without leaves and a fire in the fireplace. So I give her this month and the nextThough the whole of my year should be hers who has rendered alreadySo many of its days intolerable or perplexedBut so many more so happy. Who has left a scent on my life, and left my wallsDancing over and over with her shadowWhose hair is twined in all my waterfallsAnd all of London littered with remembered kisses.
Louis MacNeice