Page:Poems Trask.djvu/61

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SUMMER IS GONE.
51
SUMMER IS GONE.
Across the fields the gleaming gold
Of Autumn-time steals slow;
The maples flush with crimson heat,
The sumachs fervid glow;
The morning airs are damp and cool,
At night the skies are gray;
The wild-wood silence tells the tale
That Summer's gone away.

We miss the birds that sang in June,
We miss the sweet-lipped flowers,
We miss the soft airs of the south,
We miss the long, slow hours.
These autumn days are all too short;
Though brilliant in decay,
Their very splendor saddens us,
For Summer's gone away.

The frost-weed blossoms by the brook,
The nuts, in forest shades,
Drop one by one; the asters pale
Hide in the woody glades;
The mornings shorten, and the sun
Falls with a slanting ray,—
All nature tells us mournfully,
That Summer's gone away.