In Summer Time
When summer time has come, and allThe world is in the magic thrallOf perfumed airs that lull each senseTo fits of drowsy indolence;When skies are deepest blue above,And flow’rs aflush,—then most I loveTo start, while early dews are damp,And wend my way in woodland trampWhere forests rustle, tree on tree,And sing their silent songs to me;Where pathways meet and path ways part,—To walk with Nature heart by heart,Till wearied out at last I lieWhere some sweet stream steals singing byA mossy bank; where violets vieIn color with the summer sky,—Or take my rod and line and hook,And wander to some darkling brook,Where all day long the willows dream,And idly droop to kiss the stream,And there to loll from morn till night—Unheeding nibble, run, or bite—Just for the joy of being thereAnd drinking in the summer air,The summer sounds, and summer sights,That set a restless mind to rightsWhen grief and pain and raging doubtOf men and creeds have worn it out;The birds’ song and the water’s drone,The humming bees’ low monotone,The murmur of the passing breeze,And all the sounds akin to these,That make a man in summer timeFeel only fit for rest and rhyme.Joy springs all radiant in my breast;Though pauper poor, than king more blest,The tide beats in my soul so strongThat happiness breaks forth in song,And rings aloud the welkin blueWith all the songs I ever knew.O time of rapture! time of song!How swiftly glide thy days alongAdown the current of the years,Above the rocks of grief and tears!’Tis wealth enough of joy for meIn summer time to simply be.