The wind sweeps the grass,
And ruffles my hair;
Wherever I pass
There are scents in the air.

The strong smells of Summer,
The brine of the sea,
To lull the newcomer,
Float faintly to me.

The nuts growing brown
For a September morn,
While a filigree crown
Gilds the heads of the corn.

The gloss of the apple,
The bloom of the plum,
The peach's red-dapple —
How can one be glum?

With the wind, the sun's shine,
The haze on the land,
Contentment were mine
Were you but at hand.

Yet howe'er hot the sun,
Or howe'er the wind blow,
Without you and your fun,
It is lonely I go.