Life, 1921-09-29 · page 13 of 34
Life — September 29, 1921 — page 13: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page presents "September," a romantic poem by B.Y. Williams, rather than political satire. The text addresses September as a personified month, asking if the speaker can dance with it one final time before summer ends. The poem reflects on departed months (June, April, May) and celebrates September's beauty—describing rouge on cheeks, vineyard hair, and floral perfume. The accompanying illustration shows a woman in an elegant dress gazing upward in a romantic, melancholic pose, positioned within a dark, moody landscape. The artwork matches the poem's romantic and nostalgic tone, depicting the personification of the season as feminine and desirable. This is purely literary/artistic content with no political commentary or satire.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
September 29 September B. Y. Williams une whom I deemed most fair has left the hall, Giese stom shall I dance a while with you? nd little changeful April, too, has gone, And smiling May. I knew and loved them all, And danced a joyous dance with each in turn, And sighed when time was come to bid adieu; But they are gone,—and you stand smiling here,— September, shall I dance a while with you? September, is there rouge upon your cheek? But after all, perhaps I like it there; It shows your dauntless spirit, holding fast To every charm, The vine leaves in your hair Are piquant as June’s roses; your perfume Is blended flowers and fruits; and when you speak Your voice enfolds me in its soft caress,— September, is there rouge upon your cheek? September, do I really love you best? The maids I knew were young and fair,—but yet, A woman you, who knows the price of love And still can smile, and love without regret! I drown myself deep in your dreamy eyes The while I press you closer to my breast In this the last sweet dance of summertime,— September, do I really love you best? comicbooks.com