HIGH SUMMER 



GOOD green world is rolling 

 from the silvern stillness of 

 dawn to the glory of golden 

 day. Low cloud rims the east- 

 ern world's edge, a Titan's ram- 

 part, over which the sun is sending long, 

 white arrows far up the brightening sky. 

 Underneath it, what enchantment ! What 

 winds of balm blow low from shorn mead- 

 ows, from breadths of rank clover, where 

 sleek, mild-eyed cattle graze knee-deep in 

 purple bloom! What bird -song wells up 

 from each tree and shrub ! Clear and sweet, 

 it tells of love in the joy of fruition a dif- 

 ferent harmony truly from the exultant, din- 

 some clamor of nesting-time. No wonder 

 the winged choir is happy ! The nests are 

 ateem with fledglings, and field, hedge-row, 

 and orchard yield now rich largess of grain 

 and berry and creeping things, all alike tooth- 

 some to small, hungry mouths. 



As the winds blow the birds sing high 



