SUMMER 5 



found themselves in a land where ' no birds sing.' The 

 nightingales were tending their young in the thick coppices 

 and wide bits of the hedges. The flames of ' flaming June ' 

 had died into a hot glow, and the ecstasy of song into a 

 motherly quietude. How could birds sing in so gorgeous 

 a place, where nothing is ' half-revealed and half-concealed,' 

 where the wonder and the wild desire are subdued to a 

 steadfast and curtained splendour. You will find in English 

 poets who have been most prodigal of descriptions of spring 



and autumn especially autumn and winter scarcely a 

 really summer song. They are as mute as the birds when 

 August is near. 



What summer songs there are treat of June, which is 

 half spring, not of full summer ; and even so perhaps the 

 most notable of June songs in our language is not English. 

 The words are Lowell's : 



' And what so rare as a day in June ? 



Then if ever come perfect days, 

 Then heaven tries earth if it be in tune, 

 And over it softly her warm ear lays. 

 The flush of life may well be seen, 

 Thrilling back over hills and valleys. 



