A SONG OF LAST SUMMER.
SWALLOWS soar in the blue, Butterflies dance on the green, Roses are blushing the garden through, With lilies laughing between; O'er the boughs long bare to the blast A fluttering pomp has passed, And the whore earth is shouting, "Away with all doubting, 'Tis summer, 'tis summer at last !"
No pale face presses the pane, Open the casements start To the breeze that is balm to the burning brain, Surcease to the stricken heart; And from out of a may-bush white The blackbird lilts with delight, "All melancholy Is folly, is folly, When June she is glowing bright." March was a hoyden rude, April a flirt unsteadied, May, May, a maid to be wooed, But June is a bride new-wedded.
Hush ! 0 hush and 0 hark ! For nightingale never or lark Linked in her praise Such passionate lays, Between the dawn and the dark.
ALFRED PEROEVAL GRAVES.
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