Fickle Summer

Fickle Summer's fled away,
    Shall we see her face again?
    Hearken to the weeping rain,
Never sunbeam greets the day.

More inconstant than the May,
    She cares nothing for our pain,
    Nor will hear the birds complain
In their bowers that once were gay.

Summer, Summer, come once more,
    Drive the shadows from the field,
            All thy radiance round thee fling,
Be our lady as of yore;
    Then the earth her fruits shall yield,
            Then the morning stars shall sing.

Robert Fuller Murray

Robert Fuller Murray was a Scottish poet known for his lyrical and expressive poetry. Born on December 26, 1863, in Roxbury, Massachusetts, he moved to Scotland at a young age. Despite a short life, ending on April 15, 1894, Murray left a significant mark with his works, which often reflected themes of nature and human emotion. His poetry is characterized by its elegance and depth of feeling. Murray's influence remained through posthumous publications and collections of his poetry.

Robert Fuller Murray

The Delights Of Mathematics

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

A Street Corner

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

The Solitary

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

The Swallows. From Jean Pierre Claris Florian

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

English

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A Summer Morning

Never was sun so bright before,
    No matin of the lark so sweet,
    No grass so green beneath my feet,
Nor with such dewdrops jewelled o'er.

I stand with thee outside the door,
    The air not yet is close with heat,
    And far across the yellowing wheat
The waves are breaking on the shore.

A lovely day!    Yet many such,
    Each like to each, this month have passed,
            And none did so supremely shine.
One thing they lacked: the perfect touch
    Of thee--and thou art come at last,
            And half this loveliness is thine.

Robert Fuller Murray

Summer's Farewell

All in the time when Earth did most deplore
    The cold, ungracious aspect of young May,
Sweet Summer came, and bade him smile once more;
    She wove bright garlands, and in winsome play
    She bound him willing captive.    Day by day
She found new wiles wherewith his heart to please;
    Or bright the sun, or if the skies were gray,
They laughed together, under spreading trees,
By running brooks, or on the sandy shores of seas.

They were but comrades.    To that radiant maid
    No serious word he spake; no lovers' plea.
Like careless children, glad and unafraid,
    They sported in their opulence of glee.
    Her shining tresses floated wild and free;
In simple lines her emerald garments hung;
    She was both good to hear, and fair to see;
And when...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Summer Songs

I

How thick the grass,
    How green the shade -
All for love
    And lovers made.

Wood-lilies white
    As hidden lace -
Open your bodice,
    That's their place.

See how the sun-god
    Overpowers
The summer lying
    Deep in flowers;

With burning kisses
    Of bright gold
Fills her young womb
    With joy untold;

And all the world
    Is lad and lass,
A blue sky
    And a couch of grass.

Summer is here -
    let us drain
It all! it may
    Not come again.


II

How the leaves thicken
    On the boughs,
And the birds make
Their lyric vows.

O the beating, breaking
    Heart of things,
The pulse and passion -
    How it ...

Richard Le Gallienne

Ichabod

Gone is the glory from the hills,
    The autumn sunshine from the mere,
    Which mourns for the declining year
In all her tributary rills.

A sense of change obscurely chills
    The misty twilight atmosphere,
    In which familiar things appear
Like alien ghosts, foreboding ills.

The twilight hour a month ago
    Was full of pleasant warmth and ease,
            The pearl of all the twenty-four.
Erelong the winter gales shall blow,
    Erelong the winter frosts shall freeze--
            And oh, that it were June once more!

Robert Fuller Murray

Like Summer.

November? 'tis a summer's day!
    For tropic airs are blowing
As soft as whispered roundelay
From unseen lips that seem to say
    To feathered songsters going
To sunnier, southern climes afar,
"Stay where you are - stay where you are!"

And other tokens glad as these
    Declare that Summer lingers:
Round latent buds still hum the bees,
Slow fades the green from forest trees
    Ere Autumn's artist fingers
Have touched the landscape, and instead
Brought out the amber, brown, and red.

The invalid may yet enjoy
    His favorite recreation,
Gay, romping girl, unfettered boy
In outdoor sports the time employ,
    And happy consummation
Of prudent plans the farmer know
Ere wintry breezes round him blow.

And they by povert...

Hattie Howard

The Departure Of Summer.

Summer is gone on swallows' wings,
And Earth has buried all her flowers:
No more the lark,--the linnet--sings,
But Silence sits in faded bowers.
There is a shadow on the plain
Of Winter ere he comes again,--
There is in woods a solemn sound
Of hollow warnings whisper'd round,
As Echo in her deep recess
For once had turn'd a prophetess.
Shuddering Autumn stops to list,
And breathes his fear in sudden sighs,
With clouded face, and hazel eyes
That quench themselves, and hide in mist.

Yes, Summer's gone like pageant bright;
Its glorious days of golden light
Are gone--the mimic suns that quiver,
Then melt in Time's dark-flowing river.
Gone the sweetly-scented breeze
That spoke in music to the trees;
Gone--for damp and chilly breath,
A...

Thomas Hood