Poems (Trask)/Summer is Gone
SUMMER IS GONE.
Across the fields the gleaming gold Of Autumn-time steals slow; The maples flush with crimson heat, The sumachs fervid glow; The morning airs are damp and cool, At night the skies are gray; The wild-wood silence tells the tale That Summer's gone away.
We miss the birds that sang in June, We miss the sweet-lipped flowers, We miss the soft airs of the south, We miss the long, slow hours. These autumn days are all too short; Though brilliant in decay, Their very splendor saddens us, For Summer's gone away.
The frost-weed blossoms by the brook, The nuts, in forest shades, Drop one by one; the asters pale Hide in the woody glades; The mornings shorten, and the sun Falls with a slanting ray,—All nature tells us mournfully, That Summer's gone away.