THE PASSING OF SUMMER.

Where have the charms of summer gone? Part of its sunny, azure skies The bluebirds southward bore away, And how could sunset splendors stay, Or glory of the early dawn, When not a tanager now vies With orange-flaming orioles, And humming-birds no magic bowls Of nectar drain in gardens fair, Or flash like jewels through the air?

Where have the summer’s beauties flown? Afar on swallows’ purple wings; With blackbirds’ iridescent throats, And with the thrushes’ perfect notes Of rapture into music grown; With blue the indigo bunting brings, A sapphire set with emerald leaves, And finch-gold that June interweaves With silver from the kingbird’s breast And studs with pearls of many a nest.

When will the summer come again? When olive warblers northward fly, And to their hints of budding green The grosbeaks add a rosy sheen Of warming skies: O, not till then Will summer come and winter die! —Benjamin Karr.