 | Poems (1857) |  |
48
SUMMER, COME.
Radiant from thy throne of morn,
Summer, come!
Spring hath wreathed the blossomed thorn,
Roses wait thee to be born—
Summer, come!
Come,—there's glory on the lea,
Song of insect, bird, and bee:
Earth is calling but for thee—
Summer, come!
Summer, come!
Spring hath wreathed the blossomed thorn,
Roses wait thee to be born—
Summer, come!
Come,—there's glory on the lea,
Song of insect, bird, and bee:
Earth is calling but for thee—
Summer, come!
Whither would'st thou wing so soon?—
Summer, stay!
What though fled each fleeting boon,
Fled the rosy joy of June—
Summer, stay!
In thy light our love was cast,—
Link some feeling to the Past;
Leave us not to meet the blast!—
Summer, stay!
Summer, stay!
What though fled each fleeting boon,
Fled the rosy joy of June—
Summer, stay!
In thy light our love was cast,—
Link some feeling to the Past;
Leave us not to meet the blast!—
Summer, stay!
She is gone—her reign was brief—
Autumn shows
Field and vale with golden sheaf,—
Hurries fast the falling leaf
To its close;
Whilst the shortening day afar
Cometh on its cloudy car;—
And, 'midst elemental war,
Winter blows!
Autumn shows
Field and vale with golden sheaf,—
Hurries fast the falling leaf
To its close;
Whilst the shortening day afar
Cometh on its cloudy car;—
And, 'midst elemental war,
Winter blows!
| Poems (1857) | |