Classic Poem

We happy hearts for nothing are
If not for ringing praises;
A song for Summer, near and far,
From hilltop down to daisies!

We wind her hair with leaves and flowers,
In places green and shady;
We are the happy summer hours,
And Summer is our Lady.

Come, sing with us! the while we run
Is Summer going, going.
Some say she loves the roving sun;
There is no knowing, knowing.