"Soon will the high Midsummer pomps come on. 

 Soon will the musk carnations break and swell. 

 Soon shall we have gold-dusted snapdragon. 

 Sweet- William with his homely cottage smell, 

 And stocks in fragrant blow; 

 Roses that down the alleys shine afar. 

 And open, jasmine-mufiBed lattices. 

 And groups under the dreaming garden-trees. 

 And the full moon, and the white evening star." 

 — Matthew Abnold. 



