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A SONG OF EARLY SUMMER |
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 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
A SONG OF EARLY SUMMER
Not yet the orchard lifted
Its cloudy bloom to the sky,
Nor through the dim twilight drifted
The whippoorwill's low cry;
Its cloudy bloom to the sky,
Nor through the dim twilight drifted
The whippoorwill's low cry;
The gray rock had not made
Of the vine its glistening kirtle;
Nor shook in the locust shade
The purple bells of the “myrtle.”
Of the vine its glistening kirtle;
Nor shook in the locust shade
The purple bells of the “myrtle.”
76
Not yet up the chimney-hollow
Was heard in the darkling night
The boom and whir of the swallow,
And the twitter that follows the flight;
Was heard in the darkling night
The boom and whir of the swallow,
And the twitter that follows the flight;
Before the foamy whitening
Of the water below the mill;
Ere yet the summer lightning
Shone red at the edge of the hill;
Of the water below the mill;
Ere yet the summer lightning
Shone red at the edge of the hill;
In the time of sun and showers,
Of skies half black, half clear;
'Twixt melting snows and flowers;
At the poise of the flying year;
Of skies half black, half clear;
'Twixt melting snows and flowers;
At the poise of the flying year;
When woods flusht pink and yellow
In dreams of leafy June;
And days were keen or mellow
Like tones in a changing tune;
In dreams of leafy June;
And days were keen or mellow
Like tones in a changing tune;
Before the birds had broken
Forth in their song divine,
O, then the word was spoken
That made my darling mine.
Forth in their song divine,
O, then the word was spoken
That made my darling mine.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |