LAYS OF THE SEASONS. 



BY MARY HOWITT. 



II. 



SUMMER. 



Tis summer — joyous summer time ! 



In noisy towns no more abide ; 

 The earth is full of radiant things, 

 Of gleaming flowers and glancing wings, 



Beauty and joy on every side. 



Tis morn ; — the glorious sun is up, 



The dome-like heaven is bright and blue ; 

 The lark, yet higher and higher ascending, 

 Pours out his sonsr that knows no ending : 

 The u lfolding flowers are brimmed with dew. 



