THE PAGEANT OF SUMMER 



half welcome. It is not yet noon, these 

 songs have been ceaseless since dawn; 

 this evening after the yellowhammer has 

 sung the sun down, when the moon rises 

 and the faint stars appear, still the cuckoo 

 will call, and the grasshopper lark, the 

 landrail's 'crake, crake' will echo from 

 the mound, a warbler or a blackcap will 

 utter its notes, and even at the darkest 

 of the summer night the swallows will 

 hardly sleep in their nests. As the 

 morning sky grows blue, an hour before 

 the sun, up will rise the larks singing and 

 audible now, the cuckoo will recommence, 

 and the swallows will start again on their 

 tireless journey. So that the songs of 

 the summer birds are as ceaseless as the 

 sound of the waterfall which plays day 

 and night. 



I cannot leave it, I must stay under the 

 old tree in the midst of the long grass, 

 the luxury of the leaves, and the song 

 in the very air. I seem as if I could 

 feel all the glowing life the sunshine 



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