DEAD SUMMER.
Reading edition
The lord and lover of the year is slain, Fair Summer! Nature’s joy and earth’s sweet pride. The wind mourns sadly as a mournful bride Loading the air with monodies of pain; Down from the branches rustle, light as rain, The rarely-coloured leaves; afar and wide Blight-stricken blossoms strew the country-side, No more to deck it with delight again; The bright winged choristers that carolled round Sweet overflowings of supernal joy, No more their thrilling ecstasies employ To glad man’s soul with music’s purest sound; Summer lies dead upon the lap of earth, Pale melancholy weeps where late laughed mirth.