 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
Summer.—Peabody.
How fast the rapid hours retire!
How soon the spring was done!
And now no cloud keeps off the fire
Of the bright, burning sun.
How soon the spring was done!
And now no cloud keeps off the fire
Of the bright, burning sun.
The slender flower-bud dreads to swell
In that unclouded blue,
And treasures in its fading bell
The spark of morning dew.
In that unclouded blue,
And treasures in its fading bell
The spark of morning dew.
The stream bounds lightly from the spring
To cool and shadowy caves;
And the bird dips his weary wing
Beneath its sparkling waves.
To cool and shadowy caves;
And the bird dips his weary wing
Beneath its sparkling waves.
| The American common-place book of poetry | |