Classic Poem

Through August shine and shadow softly borne,
Silent in curves of slow, uncertain flight,
Far o'er the meadows and the ripening corn,
Thou dippest down through shimmering waves of light
To flowery islands odorous and bright.

No woven fabric ever caught such dyes,
No rare, embroidered cymar, half unrolled
To tempt a Turkish favorite's sated eyes,
With fitful splendors in each luminous fold
Of lucid sapphire, pearl and frosted gold.

Thou knowest not of cold and cloudy skies
The naked hedge, the sere and sighing wood;
Thou livest not on while all around thee dies,
The last, faint loiterer of thy bright brood
Forgotten in some icy solitude.

Bright child of summer! who has seen in thee
The mournful type of Beauty's swift decay?
Rather the happy symbol shouldst thou be
Of life that fills a full and joyous day,
Then, ere the winter chills it, fades away.