SUMMER IS NIGH.
But the kind and merry train will be sure to come again,
With love and smiles as ready as of yore;
I must only wait to wear my robe so rich and fair,
And they will throng as they have throng'd before.
With love and smiles as ready as of yore;
I must only wait to wear my robe so rich and fair,
And they will throng as they have throng'd before.
Oh, ye who dwell in pride with parasites beside,
Only lose your summer green leaves and ye'll see;
That the courtly friends will change into things all cold and strange,
And forget ye, as they do the winter tree!
Only lose your summer green leaves and ye'll see;
That the courtly friends will change into things all cold and strange,
And forget ye, as they do the winter tree!
SUMMER IS NIGH.
The richest of perfumes and jewels are mine,
While the dog-roses blow and the dew-spangles shine;
And the softest of music is waken'd for me,
By the stream o'er the pebble—the wind in the tree.
Nature, kind Mother, my heart is content
With the beauty and mirth thou hast lavishly sent:
Sweet Summer is nigh, and my spirit leaps high,
As the sun travels further along the blue sky.
While the dog-roses blow and the dew-spangles shine;
And the softest of music is waken'd for me,
By the stream o'er the pebble—the wind in the tree.
Nature, kind Mother, my heart is content
With the beauty and mirth thou hast lavishly sent:
Sweet Summer is nigh, and my spirit leaps high,
As the sun travels further along the blue sky.
If I murmur, it is that my home is not made.
'Mid the flowers and drops in the green coppice shade;
If I sigh, 'tis to think that my steps cannot stray
With the breeze and the brook on their wandering way.
Nature, kind Mother, I long to behold
All the glories thy blossom-ring'd fingers unfold.
None like thee can I meet, for all others will cheat
With a portion of bitter disguised in the sweet.
'Mid the flowers and drops in the green coppice shade;
If I sigh, 'tis to think that my steps cannot stray
With the breeze and the brook on their wandering way.
Nature, kind Mother, I long to behold
All the glories thy blossom-ring'd fingers unfold.
None like thee can I meet, for all others will cheat
With a portion of bitter disguised in the sweet.
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