The Conservative (Lovecraft)/July 1918/The Spirit of Summer
The Spirit of Summer.
By H.P. Lovecraft.
Aerial Nymph, whose jocund sway
Can melt our vexing cares away,
Whose winsome train the valleys bless
With perfume, warmth, and loveliness;
From fulgent skies once more appear,
To spread thy annual gifts of cheer.
Lot nimble Naiads cease their sport,
And gather wild-flow'rs for thy court,
While graceful Sylphs, admiring, lend
Their praises as thy feet descend.
How mild the zephyrs from afar
Fan with sweet breath thy gliding car;
How soft the Fauns of yonder grove,
Pleas'd with the sight, affirm their love!
Nature, rejoicing, hails thy reign,
And pleasure fills the grateful plain.
Now trip the agile hours in haste,
With new delights and comforts grac'd;
Though yesterday no bliss could give,
Today 'tis joyous just to live!
The bright'ning mind of genius glows
In warmer verse and livelier prose;
And o'er the dull terrestrial throng
Disports a breeze of Teian song.
The aureate sun, whose soothing rays
Pour languor through the noontide haze,
To each green bow'r a charm imparts,
And gilds them with enchanting arts.
Here may the pensive swain, at rest,
Behold, in robes of fancy drest,
The fays of air and sea and land,
Link'd in a springtly saraband;
Old Pan, his brow with myrtles bound,
Young Satyrs, leaping o'er the ground,
Shy Oreads lur'd from distant hills
By melodies of reedy rills,
Ethereal Dryads from the wood,
And river-gods in festive mood,
All fir'd with Corybantian glee
To dance, Aerial Nymph, for thee!
Gay Goddess, may thy bounteous will
Diffuse more lasting treasures still;
Nor suffer these glad scenes alone
To form the province of thy throne;
'Tis thine in ev'ry heart to plant
Thy bliss, a true inhabitant,
That through far drearier days than thine,
The soul of summer still may shine!