The Earth Turns South/Summer

by Clement Richardson Wood

BY-ROADS-I.

Summer

I.
High above the great winds pass,
 Tossing the tree-tops to the sky;
 And, just before they bluster by,
They stoop to earth to ripple the grass.

II.
The gross black spider seems to nap,
 Watching a gnat buzz idly by;
 But his black eyes gleam, as a butterfly
Lurches—is caught—in the fine-spun trap.

III.
The village street-lights do their best,
 As the storm's lashed rushes come and go;
 But only the lightning's flash can show
The tossing trees on the drenched hill's crest.

IV.
A patient bee, with his gold-tipped waist,
 Fills the sweet-clover with his hum,
Working unrestingly for some
Honey that he will never taste.

V.
The golden-rod unbuttons each bud,
Flings off its caps, and lets a hot
And flaming splendor warm the spot. . . .
And does gold always bloom out of mud?

VI.
The noon wind woos with soft-tongued hiss,
And each tree trembles, careless of blame,
Hiding her bright green face for shame,
Baring her gray breasts to his kiss.

VII.
The daddy-long-legs, caught in the gate,
Scuttles off, one leg the less.
It does not mar his contentedness;
Are not seven legs as good as eight?

VIII.
The evergreens are shut from the sky
By oak and maple and hickory.
Perhaps they are thinking, silently,
It will be winter by and by.