A donis has come back; cicadas sing,
Though twelve months silent, for July is here;
And thou, O Aphrodite, void of fear,
Dost sport in gold; and thou, gold-hearted thing,
O water-lily, drink'st (where reapers fling
Their serried loads of many a barbèd spear)
The scent of new-mown hay; and vague, yet near.
The voices of the noonday chirpers ring.

The sky is blue and gold and pearl-besprent,
High blazes color, larkspur, poppy, pink;
The air is incense; it is joy to live;
Yet only soulless creatures are content.
Alas! in all this splendor we MUST think,
Beyond this beauty what has earth to give?