Poems (Merrill)/Welcome to Summer
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WELCOME TO SUMMER
The south wind returns with a gentle caress
And it kisses the lakelets' bright weaves;
And softly it moans in low musical tones
As it sighs through the mystical caves.
Sweet Summer is waiting to welcome the rose,
Who is queen of the flowery band—
In regal robes new and jewels of dew
She with majestic grace will command.
And it kisses the lakelets' bright weaves;
And softly it moans in low musical tones
As it sighs through the mystical caves.
Sweet Summer is waiting to welcome the rose,
Who is queen of the flowery band—
In regal robes new and jewels of dew
She with majestic grace will command.
Drowsy and low is the hum of the bees
As the nectar they sip from the bloom;
The rivulet courses, all nature rejoices,
For Winter is laid in the tomb.
Gaily among the green arches the birds
Pour forth their thanksgiving in song;
Their clear, mellow notes in pure cadence floats
As the echoing gale sweeps along.
As the nectar they sip from the bloom;
The rivulet courses, all nature rejoices,
For Winter is laid in the tomb.
Gaily among the green arches the birds
Pour forth their thanksgiving in song;
Their clear, mellow notes in pure cadence floats
As the echoing gale sweeps along.
The hillside with blushes lifts up its fair head
In its verdurous beauty so proud;
And the flower-faces gleam as a loving sunbeam
Wafts down from the light fleecy cloud.
The grand, lofty mountain where hangs the white mist
Tells the brooklets of Summer's warm glow;
And they in turn hail each glen, woodland and vale
Where the soft willow catkins bend low.
In its verdurous beauty so proud;
And the flower-faces gleam as a loving sunbeam
Wafts down from the light fleecy cloud.
The grand, lofty mountain where hangs the white mist
Tells the brooklets of Summer's warm glow;
And they in turn hail each glen, woodland and vale
Where the soft willow catkins bend low.
The flowerets join the harmonious strain
With the cricket, the bird and the bee;
And the rippling rill the sweet chorus will trill
On its clear winding way to the sea.
'Neath the gnarled oak tree by the silvery lake
Are the fairies all robed in white;
Awaiting their queen, for they dance at e'en
By the fireflies magical light.
With the cricket, the bird and the bee;
And the rippling rill the sweet chorus will trill
On its clear winding way to the sea.
'Neath the gnarled oak tree by the silvery lake
Are the fairies all robed in white;
Awaiting their queen, for they dance at e'en
By the fireflies magical light.
Then come to the country so grand—
O come to the old oaken tree
Where mystical notes on the gentle breeze floats
And the fays dance so gay on the lea.
O come to the old oak tree
Where the ivy so lovingly twines,
And Zephyr's warm kiss so freighted with bliss
Is perfumed by the evergreen pines.
O come to the old oaken tree
Where mystical notes on the gentle breeze floats
And the fays dance so gay on the lea.
O come to the old oak tree
Where the ivy so lovingly twines,
And Zephyr's warm kiss so freighted with bliss
Is perfumed by the evergreen pines.