God the first garden made * * * 



"Who that has reason and his smell, 



Would not among roses and jasmines dwell?" 



COWLEY. 



AUGUST 



Soon the Summer will be over, 

 Dead leaves dewy meadows cover ; 

 Opal mists are thinly creeping 

 Where soon roses will be sleeping. 

 Roses red and butterflies, 

 Golden days and azure skies, 

 Murmuring streams and whispering trees, 

 Filmy clouds o'er flow'red leas, 

 Soft, rose-incense-laden breeze 

 Sing a requiem for these. 



Good-bye to Summer, with light and the roses, 

 Farewell to joys that each sweet day encloses ; 

 Hark ! now the song of the stream as it flows is, 

 "Requiem." 



All things lovely will be faded 

 In a land by death invaded ; 

 All things lately lit with glory, 

 Lifeless, leafless, grey and hoary. 

 Blithe birds swinging on the spray, 

 Singing through each long bright day 

 Glad and golden melodies. 

 Sparkling waves and foam-set seas, 

 Sweet with mermaids' silvery glees, 

 Sing a requiem for these. 



Good-bye to Summer, with light and the roses, 

 Farewell to the joys that each sweet day encloses ; 

 Hark ! now the song of the wind as it blows is, 

 "Requiem." 



