Poems (Procter)/A Lament for the Summer
A LAMENT FOR THE SUMMER.
OAN, O ye Autumn Winds! Summer has fled,The flowers have closed their tender leaves and die; The lily's gracious headAll low must lie, Because the gentle Summer now is dead. Grieve, O ye Autumn Winds! Summer lies low;The rose's trembling leaves will soon be shed, For she that loved her so,Alas! is dead, And one by one her loving children go.
Wail, O ye Autumn Winds! She lives no moreThe gentle Summer, with her balmy breath, Still sweeter than beforeWhen nearer death, And brighter every day the smile she wore!
Mourn, mourn, O Autumn Winds, Lament and mourn;How many half-blown buds must close and die; Hopes with the Summer bornAll faded lie, And leave us desolate and Earth forlorn!