SUMMER.
The early spring hath gone; I see her stand
Afar off on the hills, white clouds, like doves,
Yoked by the south wind to her opal car,
And at her feet a lion and a lamb
Couched, side by side. Irresolute spring hath gone!
And summer comes like Psyche, zephyr-borne
To her sweet land of pleasures.
Afar off on the hills, white clouds, like doves,
Yoked by the south wind to her opal car,
And at her feet a lion and a lamb
Couched, side by side. Irresolute spring hath gone!
And summer comes like Psyche, zephyr-borne
To her sweet land of pleasures.
She is here!
Amid the distant vales she tarried long,
But she hath come, oh joy!—for I have heard
Her many-chorded harp the livelong day
Amid the distant vales she tarried long,
But she hath come, oh joy!—for I have heard
Her many-chorded harp the livelong day
