 | Songs of the Seasons |  |
Sister Summer, she is dead!
And a wail goes up the valley;
Misty forms and shadows rally
Round about the mountain head;
And the wail becomes the muttering
As of thunders in restraint,
Holding requiem for a saint!
Shall I set my breezes fluttering
To dispel this heavy grief,
I, who am the mourner chief;
I, her heiress, the new comer,
Heiress to the Throne of Summer?
And a wail goes up the valley;
Misty forms and shadows rally
Round about the mountain head;
And the wail becomes the muttering
As of thunders in restraint,
Holding requiem for a saint!
Shall I set my breezes fluttering
To dispel this heavy grief,
I, who am the mourner chief;
I, her heiress, the new comer,
Heiress to the Throne of Summer?
| Songs of the Seasons | |