LAYS OF THE SEASONS. 



BY MARY HOW1TT. 

 II, 



SUMMER. 



'Tis summer joyous summer time ! 



In noisy towns no more abide ; 

 The earth is full of radiant things, 

 Of gleaming flowers and glancing wings, 



Beauty and joy on every side. 



'Tis morn ; the glorious sun is up, 



The dome-like heaven is bright and blue ; 

 The lark, yet higher and higher ascending, 

 Pours out his song that knows no ending ; 

 The unfolding flowers are brimmed with dew. 



When noon is in the flaming sky, 

 Seek we, some shadowy, silent wood ; 



Recline upon a mossy knoll, 



Cast care aside, and yield the soul 

 To that luxurious quietude. 



Above, waves wide the linden tree, 



With humming-bees the air is thrilled, 

 And through the sleeping hush is heard 

 The sudden voice of the woodland bird, 

 Like sound with which a dream is filled. 

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