Poems (Cook)/Summer is nigh
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.
The earth, the wide earth, will be beautiful soon,
With the cherry-bloom wreath and the nightingale's tune;
And the dreams without sleep with strange magic will come,
While the wood-pigeons coo, and the heavy bees hum.
Oh! Nature, kind Mother, 'tis only thy breast
That can nurse my deep feeling and lull it to rest;
For my soul is too proud to be telling aloud,
What to thee it can utter, all weeping and bow'd.
With the cherry-bloom wreath and the nightingale's tune;
And the dreams without sleep with strange magic will come,
While the wood-pigeons coo, and the heavy bees hum.
Oh! Nature, kind Mother, 'tis only thy breast
That can nurse my deep feeling and lull it to rest;
For my soul is too proud to be telling aloud,
What to thee it can utter, all weeping and bow'd.
I see the rife buds on the wide-spreading bough;
Soon, soon they will shadow my thought-laden brow:
I see the bright primroses burst where I stand,
And I laugh like a child as they drip in my hand.
Nature, kind Mother, thou hearest me breathe
My devotion at altars where wild flowers wreathe;
None other e'er knows how my warm bosom glows,
As I watch the young daisy-fringe open and close.
Soon, soon they will shadow my thought-laden brow:
I see the bright primroses burst where I stand,
And I laugh like a child as they drip in my hand.
Nature, kind Mother, thou hearest me breathe
My devotion at altars where wild flowers wreathe;
None other e'er knows how my warm bosom glows,
As I watch the young daisy-fringe open and close.
I see the blue violets peep from the bank;
I praise their Creator—I bless and I thank;
And the gossamer insect at play in the beam
Is an atom that bids me adore the Supreme.
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.
I praise their Creator—I bless and I thank;
And the gossamer insect at play in the beam
Is an atom that bids me adore the Supreme.
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.