18
"THERE'S ROSEMARY."
Larger and fuller the vines are twining,
Clearer than ever the distant hills,
The full tides sweep in their ebbing and flowing,
Nothing is lost that is worth the knowing,
Only I feel that summer is going,—
Summer is going,—summer is gone!
Clearer than ever the distant hills,
The full tides sweep in their ebbing and flowing,
Nothing is lost that is worth the knowing,
Only I feel that summer is going,—
Summer is going,—summer is gone!
What do I mourn? Who knows? For surely
Never was world more fair than now;
From the harvest moon as it rides so purely,
To the red ripe apple upon the bough:
What do I mourn? Alas! no knowing;
Nothing is lost that is worth the showing,
Only I feel that summer is going,—
Summer is going,—summer is gone!
Never was world more fair than now;
From the harvest moon as it rides so purely,
To the red ripe apple upon the bough:
What do I mourn? Alas! no knowing;
Nothing is lost that is worth the showing,
Only I feel that summer is going,—
Summer is going,—summer is gone!
