Poems (Trask)/Summer is Gone

by Clara Augusta Jones Trask

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.