All On A Golden Summer Day

All on a golden summer day,
As through the leaves a single ray
Of yellow sunshine finds its way
            So bright, so bright;
The wakened birds that blithely sing
Seem welcoming another spring;
While all the woods are murmuring
            So light, so light.

All on a golden summer day,
When to my heart a single ray
Of tender kindness finds its way,
            So bright, so bright;
Then comes sweet hope and bravely dares
To break the chain that sorrow wears -
And all my burdens, all my cares
            Are light, so light!

Arthur Macy

Arthur Macy was an American poet known for his contributions during the 19th century. Born on June 6, 1842, he became widely recognized for his poignant and evocative verses, which often reflected themes of nature and human emotion. His poetry gained considerable respect and admiration during his lifetime. He passed away on June 1, 1904.

Arthur Macy

The Five Senses

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

Place Aux Dames

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

Dinner Favors, To A. R. C.

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

Saint Botolph

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Autumn's Gold

Along the tops of all the yellow trees,
    The golden-yellow trees, the sunshine lies;
    And where the leaves are gone, long rays surprise
Lone depths of thicket with their brightnesses;
And through the woods, all waste of many a breeze,
    Cometh more joy of light for Poet's eyes--
    Green fields lying yellow underneath the skies,
And shining houses and blue distances.

By the roadside, like rocks of golden ore
    That make the western river-beds so bright,
    The briar and the furze are all alight!
Perhaps the year will be so fair no more,
    But now the fallen, falling leaves are gay,
    And autumn old has shone into a Day!

George MacDonald

At Twilight Time

At twilight time when tolls the chime,
    And saddest notes are falling,
A lonely bird with plaintive word
    Across the dusk is calling.
Vain doth it wait for one dear mate,
    That ne'er shall know the morrow;
Then sinks to rest with drooping crest
    In one long dream of sorrow.

Dearest, when night is here,
    To thee I'm calling,
Sadly as tear on tear
    Is slowly falling,
Oh, fold me near, more near -
    In love enthralling!
Here on thy breast,
    While life shall last,
With thee I stay.
    Here will I rest
Till night is past,
    And comes the day!

Arthur Macy

Songs Of The Spring Days

    I.

    A gentle wind, of western birth
    On some far summer sea,
    Wakes daisies in the wintry earth,
    Wakes hopes in wintry me.

    The sun is low; the paths are wet,
    And dance with frolic hail;
    The trees--their spring-time is not yet--
    Swing sighing in the gale.

    Young gleams of sunshine peep and play;
    Clouds shoulder in between;
    I scarce believe one coming day
    The earth will all be green.

    The north wind blows, and blasts, and raves,
    And flaps his snowy wing:
    Back! toss thy bergs on arctic waves;
    Thou canst not bar our spring.


    II.

    Up comes the primrose, wondering;
    The snowdrop droopeth by;
    The holy spirit of the spring
    ...

George MacDonald

Golden Days.

There are days of summer sunshine,
    Of warm and sunny weather,
When the hedge is full of hawthorn
    And hills are glad with heather.

There are days of silent sadness,
    Of frost, and snow, and rain,
When we fear that summer's gladness
    Will never come again.

And now our songs are minor key,
    And now in merry tune;
The windward side will change to lee,
    And January to June.

Day and night the sun is shining,
    Though he may hide his head;
Each cloud has a silver lining,
    The flowers are asleep not dead.

Every day may have its playtime
    Made bright by cheerful lays;
And life be one long Maytime,
    A year of golden days.

Lizzie Lawson

The Jonquil Maid

A little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree,
            Singing alone,
            In a low love-tone,
And the wind swept by with a wistful moan;
        For he longed to stay
        With the Maid all day;
            But he knew
            As he blew
            It was true
            That the dew
        Would never, never dry
        If the wind should die;
So he hurried away where the rosebuds grew.
And while to the Land of the Rose went he,
            Singing alone,
            In a low love-tone,
A Little Maid sat in a Jonquil Tree.

The Little Maid's eyes had a rainbow hue,
        And her sunset hair
        Was woven with care
In a knot that was fit for a Psyche to wear;
        And she pressed her lips
        With her...

Arthur Macy

Autumn

With what a glory comes and goes the year!
The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers
Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy
Life's newness, and earth's garniture spread out;
And when the silver habit of the clouds
Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with
A sober gladness the old year takes up
His bright inheritance of golden fruits,
A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene.

    There is a beautiful spirit breathing now
Its mellow richness on the clustered trees,
And, from a beaker full of richest dyes,
Pouring new glory on the autumn woods,
And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds.
Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird,
Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer,
Kisses the blushing lea...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow