A SUMMER'S GHOST.
OF that old Summer can you still recall The pomp wherewith the strong sun rose and set: How bright the moon shone on the shining fields, What wild, sweet blossoms with the dew were wet?
Can you still hear the merry robins sing, And see the brave red lilies gleam and glow, The waiting wealth of bloom, the reckless bees That woo their wild-flower loves, and sting, and go?
Can you still hear the waves that round the shore Broke in soft joy, and told delusive tales,— "We go, but we return: Love comes and goes; And eyes that watch see homeward-faring sails."
"'T was thus in other seasons!" Ah, may be! But I forget them, and remember this,— A brief, warm season, and a fond, brief love, And cold, white Winter after bloom and bliss.