The Summer looks on earth with dying smile,
And grief and gladness in that smile are blended,
For her brief sovereignty is well-nigh ended;
Yet blessings cluster I her path the while,
And men’s lips speak her praises—for her hand
Hath been profuse of gifts—the golden grain,
The ripening fruit, whose cheek hath caught its stain
From the sun’s noonday kiss—for these, the land
Exults through all her borders. So, in death,
Thou canst look back, oh Summer! with an eye
Serene with gladness, and as good men die,
Calm and in hope, resign thy parting breath,
And Autumn’s winds that moan above thy bier,
Shall tell thy deeds to the decaying Year!
