THE POETRY OF SUMMER. REPOSE IN SUMMER. (FROM "THE TALKING OAK.") HER eyelids dropped their silken eaves, Through all the summer of my leaves, Sometimes I let a sunbeam slip A second fluttered round her lip, Like a golden butterfly. TENNYSON. (59) SUMMER REVERIE. I STOOD tiptoe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which with a modest pride Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn, There was wide wandering for the greediest eye, To peer about upon variety; Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim, To picture out the quaint and curious bending SUMMER REVERIE. 61 I gazed awhile, and felt as light and free A bush of May-flowers with the bees about them; And let long grass grow round the roots to keep them A filbert-hedge with wild-brier overtwined,) Babbling so wildly of its lovely daughters, :) The spreading blue-bells: it may haply mourn That such fair clusters should be rudely torn By infant hands, left on the path to die. Open afresh your round of starry folds, Ye ardent marigolds!) Dry up the moisture from your golden lids, That in these days your praises should be sung (Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight: SUMMER REVERIE. A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds ;) Where swarms of minnows show their little heads, Tempered with coolness. How they ever wrestle 63 But turn your eye, and they are there again.) Like good men in the truth of their behaviors. Or perhaps, to show their black and golden wings, Were I in such a place, I sure should pray That nought less sweet might call my thoughts away, |