 | Beads from a Rosary |  |
59
A LAST SONG OF SUMMER.
Oh! queenly fair Summer, thy beauty fades fast,
Thy flowers are all withered, thy glory is past;
And low in the woods, with the dead leaves around,
And the winds breathing o'er thee a desolate sound,
In tears thou art lying.
Thy flowers are all withered, thy glory is past;
And low in the woods, with the dead leaves around,
And the winds breathing o'er thee a desolate sound,
In tears thou art lying.
Oh! queenly fair Summer, thy worshippers all
Have fled and forgone thee,—right merry in hall
Their laughter is ringing;—ah! little I trow
Do they ponder how, lonely beneath the bare bough
Unwept thou art dying.
Have fled and forgone thee,—right merry in hall
Their laughter is ringing;—ah! little I trow
Do they ponder how, lonely beneath the bare bough
Unwept thou art dying.
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The voices that hymned thee so gaily of yore,
The happy bird-voices, their music is o'er,—
Save the robin's, who singeth of Winter with glee,
And the rook's, who caws loud on the storm-shaken tree,
As he flaps his dark pinion.
The happy bird-voices, their music is o'er,—
Save the robin's, who singeth of Winter with glee,
And the rook's, who caws loud on the storm-shaken tree,
As he flaps his dark pinion.
There are voices, but savage and wild ones, alas!
The roaring of rivers, as foaming they pass,
The plashing of rain, and the groan, deep and low,
Of the oak, as his giant limbs toss to and fro
'Neath the wind's strong dominion.
The roaring of rivers, as foaming they pass,
The plashing of rain, and the groan, deep and low,
Of the oak, as his giant limbs toss to and fro
'Neath the wind's strong dominion.
Oh! queenly fair Summer, fierce Winter, ere long
Will sweep o'er the hills with his turbulent throng
Of blasts and rough hail-storms, and finding thee there,
Will freeze thy warm blood with his icy fixed stare,
And laugh as thou diest.
Will sweep o'er the hills with his turbulent throng
Of blasts and rough hail-storms, and finding thee there,
Will freeze thy warm blood with his icy fixed stare,
And laugh as thou diest.
And when thou art dead, with a false look of woe,
He will wind thee perchance in a death-sheet of snow,
And calling around him that turbulent throng,
They will howl forth a requiem, dreary and long,
O'er the grave where thou liest.
He will wind thee perchance in a death-sheet of snow,
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They will howl forth a requiem, dreary and long,
O'er the grave where thou liest.
But heed not, fair Summer, sleep softly awhile,—
Sleep softly, and dream of the sun's loving smile;
They rule not for ever, that stern companie,—
Old Winter, one day, shall lie crownless like thee,
Time-wasted and hoary.
Sleep softly, and dream of the sun's loving smile;
They rule not for ever, that stern companie,—
Old Winter, one day, shall lie crownless like thee,
Time-wasted and hoary.
Oh! heed not, and weep not, sleep softly awhile,
And still in thy dreams feel the sun's loving smile;
When those dreams are all ended, thy waking may show
The sun on thy face, and the earth singing low,
And the birth of thy glory.
And still in thy dreams feel the sun's loving smile;
When those dreams are all ended, thy waking may show
The sun on thy face, and the earth singing low,
And the birth of thy glory.
| Beads from a Rosary | |