{Summer. 
^ HERE is a singing in the summer air, 
The blue and brown moths flutter o’er the grass, 
The stubble bird is creaking in the wheat, 
And perch’d upon the honeysuckle-hedge 
Pipes the green linnet. Oh, the golden world ! 
The stir of life on eveny blade of grass. 
The motion and the joy on every bough, 
The glad feast everywhere, for things that love 
The sunshine, and for things that love the shade ! 
The wind dies—not a leaf stirs—on the pool 
The fly scarce moves; earth seems to hold her breath 
Until her heart stops, listening silently 
For the far footsteps of the coming rain 
Robert Buchanan. 
