 | Birds and flowers and other country things |  |
151
[SUMMER]
They may boast of the spring-time when flowers are the fairest,
And birds sing by thousands on every green tree;
They may call it the loveliest, the greenest, the rarest;—
But the summer's the season that's dearest to me!
And birds sing by thousands on every green tree;
They may call it the loveliest, the greenest, the rarest;—
But the summer's the season that's dearest to me!
152
For the brightness of sunshine; the depth of the shadows;
The crystal of waters; the fulness of green,
And the rich flowery growth of the old pasture meadows,
In the glory of summer can only be seen.
The crystal of waters; the fulness of green,
And the rich flowery growth of the old pasture meadows,
In the glory of summer can only be seen.
Oh, the joy of the green-wood! I love to be in it,
And list to the hum of the never-still bees,
And to hear the sweet voice of the old mother linnet,
Calling unto her young 'mong the leaves of the trees!
And list to the hum of the never-still bees,
And to hear the sweet voice of the old mother linnet,
Calling unto her young 'mong the leaves of the trees!
To see the red squirrel frisk hither and thither,
And the water-rat plunging about in his mirth;
And the thousand small lives that the warm summer weather,
Calls forth to rejoice on the bountiful earth!
And the water-rat plunging about in his mirth;
And the thousand small lives that the warm summer weather,
Calls forth to rejoice on the bountiful earth!
153
Then the mountains, how fair! to the blue vault of heaven
Towering up in the sunshine, and drinking the light,
While adown their deep chasms, all splintered and riven,
Fall the far-gleaming cataracts silvery white!
Towering up in the sunshine, and drinking the light,
While adown their deep chasms, all splintered and riven,
Fall the far-gleaming cataracts silvery white!
And where are the flowers that in beauty are glowing
In the garden and fields of the young, merry spring,
Like the mountain-side wilds of the yellow broom blowing,
And the old forest pride, the red wastes of the ling?
In the garden and fields of the young, merry spring,
Like the mountain-side wilds of the yellow broom blowing,
And the old forest pride, the red wastes of the ling?
Then the garden, no longer 'tis leafless and chilly,
But warm with the sunshine and bright with the sheen
Of rich flowers, the moss-rose and the bright tiger-lily,
Barbaric in pomp as an Ethiop Queen.
But warm with the sunshine and bright with the sheen
154
Barbaric in pomp as an Ethiop Queen.
Oh, the beautiful flowers, all colours combining,
The larkspur, the pink, and the sweet mignionette,
And the blue fleur-de-lis, in the warm sunlight shining,
As if grains of gold in its petals were set!
The larkspur, the pink, and the sweet mignionette,
And the blue fleur-de-lis, in the warm sunlight shining,
As if grains of gold in its petals were set!
Yes, the summer,—the radiant summer's the fairest,
For green-woods and mountains, for meadows and bowers,
For waters, and fruits, and for flowers the rarest,
And for bright shining butterflies, lovely as flowers!
For green-woods and mountains, for meadows and bowers,
For waters, and fruits, and for flowers the rarest,
And for bright shining butterflies, lovely as flowers!
| Birds and flowers and other country things | |