Amy Lowell’s “September. 1918” captures a bright autumn afternoon full of falling leaves, open windows, and two small boys gathering red berries in the park. The speaker sees all this beauty clearly, but she cannot fully enjoy it yet. She imagines a future when the war is over and she can take the memory out, turn it over, and taste its sweetness. For now, though, she can only pack the afternoon away like a lunch, because all her energy goes into balancing on a broken world. The mood is bittersweet: the ordinary loveliness of the scene feels fragile and precious against the weight of wartime exhaustion. The poem quietly suggests that holding onto small moments of peace may be a way to endure when the larger world seems shattered.
September. 1918 — Summary
This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight ; The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves ; The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves. And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows. Under a tree in the park. Two little boys, lying flat on their faces. Were carefully gathering red berries To put in a pasteboard box.
Some day there will be no war. Then I shall take out this afternoon And turn it in my fingers. And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate. And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves.
To-day I can only gather it And put it into my lunch-box. For I have time for nothing But the endeavour to balance myself Upon a broken world.