THE PAGEANT OF SUMMER 



The buds were on them, but not yet open ; 

 it was between the may and the rose. 



As the wind, wandering over the sea, 

 takes from each wave an invisible portion, 

 and brings to those on shore the ethereal 

 essence of ocean, so the air lingering 

 among the woods and hedges green 

 waves and billows became full of fine 

 atoms of summer. Swept from notched 

 hawthorn leaves, broad-topped oak leaves, 

 narrow ash sprays and oval willows ; from 

 vast elm cliffs and sharp-taloned brambles 

 under; brushed from the waving grasses 

 and stiffening corn, the dust of the sun- 

 shine was borne along and breathed. 

 Steeped in flower and pollen to the music 

 of bees and birds, the stream of the atmos- 

 phere became a living thing. It was life 

 to breathe it, for the air itself was life. 

 The strength of the earth went up through 

 the leaves into the wind. Fed thus on 

 the food of the Immortals, the heart 

 opened to the width and depth of the 

 summer to the broad horizon afar, down 



