Dropping roses from her hand, Came dear Summer down the land, With her hair a tawny banner By the breezes fanned. And she looked and laughed at me, Where I sat all mournfully, Counting over my lost labors Near a cypress tree. And she said: "Oh! why repine? All these patient works of mine— Leaves and flowers and fragrant apples— I must soon resign. "Not one blossom will remain: But do I, like thee, complain? Nay, I pause and rest a season, Then begin again." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON A GREEK VASE by FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN MOONLIGHT by MARGUERITE ATTERBURY THE CAPTAIN'S LADY by ROBERT BURNS TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. BY LAKE WACHUSETT by EDWARD CARPENTER A PROTEST by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH IN COMMENDATION OF THE TIME ... REIGN OF KING CHARLES by ABRAHAM COWLEY |