Poems (Denver)/The Bier of Summer
THE BIER OF SUMMER.
Summer is dead! what shall we take To grace the Summer's bier? I heard her last, her faintest sigh, Fall sadly on the ear, Like to some passing melody I almost grieved to hear.
All! where are now those sunny hours So smiled on from above? And where are now those blissful bowers Through which we loved to rove? And where the fragrance of those flowers Whose every breath was love?
I see nought by the Summer's bier Of all she loved of yore; Where is the brightness of her skies, The wild-flower wreath she wore? Oh! have they followed to decay, Or did they go before?
Many have gone, but few remain As mourners o'er the tomb Of parted Summer—there to shed A kind of wild perfume; And from her silent halls disperse The darkness of their gloom.
And is this all? Are there no more, To mourn for Summer fled? To breathe a prayer above her tomb, One silent tear to shed? Ah, yes! one gentle heart remains To weep beside the dead!
Autumn stretched forth her graceful hands To deck the Summer's bier.I saw her strew her leaves around, Her mournful smile appear; And o'er the earth I heard the wail, The whispered sigh, the tear.
She placed on Summer's silent brow, The chaplet she had wove, Of yellow leaves and faded flowers— Fit emblem of her love—That she had gathered through long hours, From meadow, hill, and grove.
In her soft eyes was tenderness, Without despair or gloom,As she bent o'er Summer's faded bier, And gave her all her bloom. O! the dead are never desolate While love bends o'er their tomb!