Classic Poem

Shines in mid-heaven the summer sun,
Green the gay robes which the woods have won,
And far aloft, o'er the snowy fleece,
Of clouds that brood in the realm of peace,
Spreads the great arch, with a deepening blue,
That meetly, with beauty, still bounds the view.
The swallow flits, with a joyous cry,
From the shadow'd eaves to the open sky,
And the vulture stoops, in his eager spring,
'Neath the sudden flash of his arrowy wing
Oh, freed is the earth from her winter trance,
And the young Summer hath her inheritance;
The surly monarch of storm no more
Darkens the realm he ruled before;
His sceptre, where late he smote the wood,
Lord of the sombre solitude,
Broken, away in his fear he flies,
To the kindred glooms of his northern skies;
And a chirp and a song now cheer the hours,
And the very grave wears a robe of flowers.
She comes, the Summer so blessing, and Earth
Bounds, with a wing, to a better birth;
She breathes o'er the plain, and a thousand eyes
Open at once in a world of dyes;
Blue and purple, the buds unfold,
Happy and bright in their green and gold;
Daisies that speak for the virgin heart,
Lowly but sweet, by the path upstart;
And pinks that promise for hopes of youth,
Blossom with others that speak for truth.

How the enthusiast nature glows,
With that first bound from her long repose;
How, with a shout, she bids arise,
Her messenger-angels of earth and skies!
From height and dell, from brooklet and grove,
Forth they speed on their work of love;
Fanning the faint and warming the chill,
Doing the work of fondness still,
And, with the spells of each winning grace,
Giving new life in each warm embrace.

They come, they come, with the mother spell,
And the tribute children obey them well,
And gladden to hear the call that bids
Each drooping dear one unveil its lids.
The leaf grows green on the aged trees,
And the blossom is wing'd by the wooing breeze;
The bird leaps free to the sun and air,
And in a new song forgets his care;
While the butterfly sports on his painted wing,
Having no duty to spin or to sing.

Oh, joyous freedom from hostile thrall,
That brings the blessing and bloom to all,
That, on rock and valley, and height, and plain,
Bestows the sun and the smile again;
That only breathes upon Winter's brow,
And breaks his fetters and melts his snow;
That smiles upon Autumn's wither'd bower,
And straightway it glories in fruit and flower,
And but whispers the sons of men, and they seem
Like children bless'd with a joyous dream.

Oh! the glad Summer, how bright her eye,
How sweet her breath, and how soft her sky,
How wondrous her magic power to bless
With the bloom of the garden the wilderness —
To crown the wild thorn with the golden flower,
To bathe the sad earth with the genial shower,
To foster the strength in the breast of Toil,
And hallow with bounty the niggard soil,
Glad the broad fields with the sunripe grain,
Till we dream of the age of Gold again!