Of the whole year, I think, I love The best that time we used to call The Little Summer of All Saints, About the middle of the fall, Because there fell the golden days Of that gold year beside the sea, When first I had you at heart's will, And you had your whole will of me. It is the being's afternoon, The second summer of the soul, When spirits find a way to reach Beyond the sense and its control. Then come the firmamental days, The underseason of the year, When God himself, being well content, Takes time to whisper in our ear. Sweetheart, once more by every sign Of blade and shadow, it must be The Little Summer of All Saints In the red Autumn by the sea. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEIGHBORS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON FOREFATHERS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE DEBT by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE COW IN APPLE TIME by ROBERT FROST WHAT OF THE DARKNESS?; TO THE HAPPY DEAD PEOPLE by RICHARD THOMAS LE GALLIENNE THE DREAMER by SHAEMAS O'SHEEL COWLEY: THE GARDEN by ALEXANDER POPE |