18
SUMMER.
Oh, bright, sweet summertide! we give to theeOur truest, heartiest welcome. Through long weeksOf dreariness and dulness we have dreamtOf thy unnumbered glories, and have watchedWith earnest longing for thy first approach.Now thou hast come, and we are glad indeed.
No lack of verdure now; the stately trees,That all the winter and far into springSeemed bare and dead, flutter their leafy plumesResponsive to the zephyr's loving kiss,Blending a strength and beauty all their own.
How green are all the meadows and how gay,Until the mower comes with ruthless scythe,And then what sweetness follows in his train!
And what a world of blossom everywhere!The wild rose decorates the wayside hedgeWith long festoons richly bedight with gems,And its still fairer garden sister bloomsIn grand profusion, and varietyOf habit, and of colour, and of form.Who can compute the multitude of flowersThat yield their grace and fragrance to enhanceThe gladness of this yearly festival?
And oh, the woods! the cool, refreshing woods,Where nature vegetates in wildest mood,Where giant trees almost exclude the sky,And branches of the lavish undergrowthOf hazel and of hornbeam meet o'erheadIn tangled masses, and where all aroundIn tropical luxuriance the brakeExpands its countless fronds, and various fernsVie with each other the fair scene to grace,While the free honeysuckle rampant climbs,
