Poems (Browning)/Summer (Away, away on the wings of the robin)
For works with similar titles, see Summer.
Summer
Away, away on the wings of the robin, Away to the summerland calling afar;O the joy, the joy that abounds in just living, Hear the song of the thrush as he calls from his bower.
Awake, awake! it's the noontide of pleasure, Ah! gladness is fleeting, O drink to your fill;Arise, arise! to life's purest measure That thrilling resounds over meadow and hill.