THE PASSING OF SUMMER. 



Where have the charms of summer gone? 

 Part of its sunny, azure skies 



The bluebirds southward bore away, 

 And how could sunset splendors stay, 



Or glory of the early dawn, 

 When not a tanager now vies 

 With orange-flaming orioles, 

 And humming-birds no magic bowls 



Of nectar drain in gardens fair, 



Or flash like jewels through the air? 



Where have the summer's beauties flown? 

 Afar on swallows' purple wings; 

 With blackbirds' iridescent throats, 

 And with the thrushes' perfect notes 



Of rapture into music grown; 



With blue the indigo bunting brings, 

 A sapphire set with emerald leaves, 

 And finch-gold that June interweaves 



With silver from the kingbird's breast 



And studs with pearls of many a nest. 



When will the summer come again? 

 When olive warblers northward fly, 

 And to their hints of budding green 

 The grosbeaks add a rosy sheen 

 Of warming skies: O, not till then 

 Will summer come and winter die! 



— Benjamin Karr. 



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