Summer is come -- brisk pink, and wilding rose, And all the enchantment which this England knows, When honeyed hours of sunshine clearly bright Steal on in beauty to'rds how brief a night; While yet the cuckoo calls her hollows through -- Two faltering grace notes, now, to every '@3oo@1 -- Till the harsh piping of each nesting brood Fall mute; and sweet-tongued from his solitude The lingering nightingale in dingle or dell Sings even the lovelier since he sings, Farewell. Alas, that June should fade; that time should be So rich yet fugitive a pageantry. Forsake it then awhile, and with us fly Into the past where nothing now can die: Where even the young and lovely, old and staid, Live on unchanged -- of purest fantasy made. Here, then, another pageant; take your ease, Your hearts attuned to welcome refugees. See; now they come -- in semblance of a Masque -- Craving your credence -- it is all they ask. Charles is enthroned; the Plague is o'er, the Fire That burned half London, in disaster dire, Is smouldering out; yet not extinct all fears: For lo, a child is lost, and still in tears! Comfort will come to her full soon. . . But nay; I'm telling secrets -- @3She@1 is in the Play; A waif indeed, alas, but not from Love a-stray. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SONG OF ETERNITY IN TIME by SIDNEY LANIER BUCOLIC COMEDY: SPRING by EDITH SITWELL THE RUNAWAY SLAVE AT PILGRIM'S POINT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE WOOING by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR A DESCRIPTION OF THE MORNING by JONATHAN SWIFT THE HAPPY WARRIOR by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |