IN summer--daylight fled--where flowers abound, The fields their luscious fragrance pour afar; With half-closed eyes, ears scarce awake to sound, Slumbering, our minds not all unconscious are. The stars, more pure, shine through the shadowy skies; Uncertain twilight tints th' eternal vault; Dawn, soft and pale, waiting its hour to rise, Seems all night long on heaven's low ridge to halt. |