The Height of Summer 139 



The Height of Summer 



NOW summer is at her midmost fervour and 

 splendour. For a moment she pauses in 

 the glory of full foliage, the ripening of 

 grasses and grains, the drifting fragrances of first 

 harvests and the firs whose resinous sap is drained 

 by the ardent sun and richly distilled within the 

 air, she pauses and contemplates what she has 

 done. Over the hills sweep her wild western 

 breezes and the forests murmur gratefully ; in the 

 valley brood her heats, and her dews rise and the 

 thrushes sing and there is peace ; on the plains 

 the rye nods and the corn-blades wave and the 

 cattle lie beneath the trees at the pasture edge in 

 the noontide, and are content. All the earth has 

 changed since summer came. No faint scents of 

 tiny violets or brave arbutus are hers ; after the 

 lilacs and thesyringas followed the roses, and all the 

 air was full of their sumptuous fragrance ; then the 

 grapes joined their wine. All the sweetness of the 

 azalea and the clethra is forgotten now, and even 

 the roses are a memory, save where in the secluded 



