11 Poems About August to Treasure



Get ready to be inspired by the beauty of August with these 11 captivating poems. August, the last month of hot summer days before autumn arrives, is a time of transitions and reflection. Whether you’re savoring the last beach trips, enjoying a cold drink indoors, or reminiscing about summer memories with loved ones, these poems capture the essence of August. From William Stanley Braithwaite’s musings on the changing seasons to Mark Twain’s gentle farewell, these verses will transport you into the heart of this enchanting month. So sit back, relax, and let these poems about August fill you with warmth and wonder.

11 Poems About August to Treasure

Late August

Change of heart in the dreams we bear— The transition from summer to autumn is upon us. The green leaves turn to brown, and the days are gradually closing down. Love, so swift to up and follow the fleeting season, is now challenged. But even if rapture hollows, let us hold on to our dreams and find solace in them. As the season comes to an end, we embrace the passing of time, the tides, and the sorrows that come along. Regardless of what the Fates may send our way, let us greet each new day with a cheer: goodmorrow!


I come! I come! The waving fields beckon us as they yield their golden grain. In the hush and heat of a glowing noon, the insects hum their melodic tune. The merriest birds, perhaps weary from their summer songs, sit in the shade with drooping wings. But amidst this stillness, we witness the purpling grapes hanging high, ripening beneath the sunny sky. The fruits of the bending tree turn blushing and rosy, a feast for our eyes. Soon, our garners shall be over-full with the bountiful gifts of August.

An August Wood Road

In the birch-tops cool and high, the partridge coveys fly. The dry cicadas twang in harmony with the purpling fir-cones hanging. And as we venture further, the roadside moss embellished with scarlet beads of bunch-berries catches our eye. The worn old road, brown with shadows and bright with sun, gracefully meanders through the wood. A little roadside pool, deep and cool, invites us to rest. Butterflies and drifted thistle-seeds share the peaceful atmosphere. As the sun illuminates the moveless boughs, August’s vibrant heaven dances above. The old road leads us to all things good, reminding us that the year is at full, and time at flood.


August days are hot and still, inviting weary travelers to seek refuge. Not a breath stirs on the house or hill, and the cries for rain fill the air. But the children swiftly find a shady place, a sanctuary tailored to their young hearts’ desires. Here, in this haven from the scorching sun, they quietly stay until its fiery presence fades: August is simply too hot for play!

When my eyes are weeds…

When my eyes become weeds and my lips transform into petals, weaving down the wind that carries the beginning of autumn, where the beeches signify the start, I am intertwined with nature. My arms, like elder-bushes, reach upward through my heart as the rangy lilac pushes through. Summer, do your worst! Illuminate the night sky with your tinsel moon and summon your performing stars to fall headlong through your paper firmament. I shall no longer be cursed by the flushed and amorous slattern, with her dusty laces’ pattern trailing as she unravels. I embrace the transformation and find solace in my own vibrant nature.

In August

Beside the country road, wild carrot lifts its delicate circles of white lace with truant grace. Vines with interwoven branches drape the old stone walls, exuding the pungent scent of grape. The sumac torches blaze, the hardhack glows, and the healing fragrance of pine fills the air. The pallid Indian pipe listens in vain for the stealthy moccasin, while a faded robin sings in pensive mood. A butterfly with dusky, gold-flecked wings holds court for plumy dandelion seeds and thistledown on a throne of fireweed. The road, wrapped in goldenrod, threads the wood, leading us to a forgotten trail where Lonely Lake, with its crystal-clear waters, awaits. The shimmering bottom, adorned with many-colored stones, captivates our gaze. The kingfisher dives for prey, and the night sky reflects in dazzling lights shattered by a falling star. This enchanted road holds all things good, as the year reaches its peak and time flows like a flood.

An August Cricket

When the August days stretch long and hot, and the hills hazy and lazy, when the clouds move slowly and the winds are still, and the brooks flow lazily. That’s when a modest minstrel sings his song to any soul that passes by. Though his tongue speaks a language unknown, those who hear it drink in its healing melody. His life is as brief as a summer leaf, clinging to branches. But he sings without a thought of death or grief, pouring his soul into every note. No epic strains fill his song, no tales of loss or glory. He is not a scholar, but all he knows is taught by his own condition. His rustic themes of summer’s joy and treasure echo in our hearts, giving us pure pleasure.


Motion whisperings of wings accompany the deep drone of the summer’s old gold. The red rose drips its delicate petals under the last hues of an orange sun, signaling the approach of August night. With each passing moment, the night grows nearer.


No wind, no bird. The river flames like brass, captivating our attention while silence embraces the fields on either side. The deep grass, filled with shriveled leaves, and the white rocks along the creeks blaze under the scorching sun. The cattle find solace in stagnant pools, desperately seeking respite from the relentless heat and the pestering flies. We yearn for refreshing showers that come in the spring, when flowers call for them. But the clouds tease us, appearing only to pass away, leaving us full of longing as the day comes to a close.


The August sun pours its fiery rays upon the land, as vegetation implores the skies for showers. The scorching heat prompts a plea for relief in the form of rain. Along the creeks, the white rocks heat up and glow, as if someone had built fires beneath them. Cattle stand in stagnant pools, seeking refuge from the relentless flies that pester them day and night. We search in vain for the refreshing showers that come so readily in spring when flowers bloom. But the clouds appear and disappear, leaving us in despair at the end of the day.

As we reflect on these eleven beautiful poems about August, we are reminded of the transition from the hot summer days to the approaching autumn. August symbolizes change, with its scorching heat and stillness that give way to cooler breezes and colorful foliage. It is a month of transitions, from leisurely beach trips to the start of a new school year. It is a month to savor and treasure, filled with precious memories of summer adventures with friends and family.

In Late August, William Stanley Braithwaite captures the change of heart we experience as the season begins to fade. Love follows the fleeting season, but dreams still live within us. In August, we are invited to witness the beauty of nature as the fields yield their golden grain. The ripe fruits and abundant harvest remind us of the August bountiful. An August Wood Road takes us on a journey through nature’s splendor, with its sleeping pools, vibrant heavens, and ancient roads leading to all things good.

August days are described in Annette Wynne’s poem as hot and still, making it too hot for play. Dorothy Parker’s poem, When My Eyes Are Weeds, embraces the transformation that comes with the changing seasons, while Katharine Lee Bates’ In August paints a vivid picture of the countryside in this transitional month.

Arthur Goodenough’s An August Cricket highlights the modest minstrel that sings his song to anyone who listens, offering healing melodies. Evelyn Judy Buehler’s Hummingbird captures the beauty of nature’s motion and the approaching August night. Lizette Woodworth Reese’s August poem describes a landscape in silence, where the river flames like brass but wild lilies blaze with vibrant colors.

Ed Blair’s poem depicts the scorching August sun and the yearning for refreshing showers that seem to elude us. These poems, each unique in their style and imagery, collectively capture the essence of August and its significance as a time of change and transition.

As we savor the last days of August, let us cherish the memories made and the beauty that surrounds us. Whether we find ourselves in hot and still days or witness the vibrant transformation of nature, let these poems serve as a reminder to treasure this month and all that it represents.

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