Ah Still Delay /&quot; 93 



&quot; A h Still Delay ! Thou Art So Fair ! &quot; 



THERE is an especial interest in the 

 tardiness of summer, when Nature seems 

 so reluctant to change, so fondly linger 

 ing in the pleasant purlieus of spring. It is as if 

 Nature were feeling that final mood of Faust, 

 when he should say to the passing moment, &quot; Ah 

 still delay ! thou art so fair ! &quot; Often in our 

 clime that mood possesses Nature in the days of 

 ripening forests, when the achievement has de 

 clared itself, when fervour and passion are over, 

 and the reward of repose is sweet. But the de 

 lays of spring are apt to be sour, savage and 

 menacing, not as now, cool but cheerful and 

 even brilliant, with the beauty of the earth un 

 folding steadily, tenderly, with infinite delight, 

 the very temperance of luxury. 



Who has looked upon the wonderful variance, 

 harmonies, gradations of the foliage over streets 

 and roads and mountains, in valleys and beside 

 rivers, the magic of the increasing and deepen 

 ing shadows of the trees, the outspringing of 



