Poems (Grossman)/Summer

by Ethel B. Grossman

For works with similar titles, see Summer.

SUMMER

Summer, with its skies so blue;
Flowers, of every tint and hue;
Trees and grass, so fresh and green;
Rustic brooks rippling serene,
Singing songs of times gone by,
List' now to its laugh and sigh.
Every stream and wood and dell
Has some secret it can tell.

Lovers meet on shaded banks,
Children play their youthful pranks.

Nature has lived many ages,
She knows more than all the sages.

Though she teaches girls and boys,
Nature doesn't make much noise.

In quiet nooks, from babbling brooks,
We learn more than from wondrous books.

Each, its stories, thus can tell,—
Lake, pond, river, wood and dell.

Trees are whispering truths above it,
Mountains teach from base to summit.

As I strolled along to-day,
I thought of beauteous summer, gay;
The branches bowed, with gentle sway,—
Each leaf had something sweet to say.

Yet Nature seemed so still and sad;
The secrets she has heard and had,
Which ne'er perhaps will be revealed,
Lie buried in lake, stream and field.

How can we mortals ever know,
From mountain's view or river's flow,
The wondrous works of that great Hand
Which shaped the ocean, formed the land,

And made the summer bright and fair,
With not a single grief or care,—
Sweet summer's trees and grass and sod,
Reminders of Eternal God!

June, 1914.