I felt the chill of the meadow underfoot But the sun o'erhead; And snatches of verse and song of scenes like this I sung or said. I skirted the margin alders for miles and miles In a sweeping line; The day was the day by every flower that blooms, But I saw no sign. Yet further I went before the scythes should come, For the grass was high; Till I saw the path where the slender fox had come And gone panting by. Then at last and following that I found In the very hour When the color flushed to the petals, it must have been - The far-sought flower. There stood the purple spires, with no breath of air Or headlong bee To disturb their perfect poise the livelong day Neath the aldertree! I only knelt and, putting the boughs aside Looked, or at most Counted them all to the buds in the copper depth, Pale as a ghost. Then I arose and silent wandered home, And I for one Said that the fall might come and whirl of leaves, For summer was done. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOT SIX DIFFERENCES by MARVIN BELL CONTRA MORTEM: THE SUMMER by HAYDEN CARRUTH CONTRA MORTEM: THE SUN by HAYDEN CARRUTH DESPAIR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SAVORING THE PAST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |