A SONG OF SUMMER 7/ 



as if, sibyl-like, it might whisper to 

 us. Trees surge and the sun sifts 

 through with sapphire sky glints; the 

 spider-webs are idle, Arachne is nap- 

 ping. A black and white lizard comes 

 into a sunny spot, and a locust, split- 

 ting the back of his pupa, crawls out 

 on a root, his wings yet limp and moist 

 from the mysterious change of condi- 

 tion. The golden-crowned thrush wakes 

 fitful echoes in the trees by the river; 

 the wood thrush tunes and then lapses 

 to silence. The leaf-shadows dance, 

 the branches above us make strange 

 hypnotic passes, and the heat-veil is 

 stealing over the pastures : — 



" Woof of the fen, ethereal gauze, 

 Woven of Nature's richest stuffs, 

 Visible heat, air-water and dry sea, 

 Last conquest of the eye; 

 Toil of the day displayed, sun-dust, 

 Aerial surf upon the shores of earth. 

 Ethereal estuary, frith of light, 



