220 IN SUMMER. 



that might set me right before the world ; but it 

 is August now, and, summer's activity ended* 

 why should I labor to think? Why not build 

 air-castles as I smell the herbs of the field ; build 

 and unbuild them until the day closes, and later, 

 lulled by the monotones of cricket and katydid, 

 hum those ever-melancholy lines 



" Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight ; 

 Make me a child again, just for to-night." 



