THE PARTING OF SUMMER. 65 
To the wasted and the weary 
On the bed of sickness bound. 
In swift delirious fantasies, 
That changed with every sound ; 
To the sailor on the billows. 
In longings, wild and vain, 
For the gushing founts and breezy hills 
And the homes of earth again ! 
And unto me, glad summer ! 
How hast thou flown to me 1 
My chainless footstep nought hath kept 
From thy haunts of song and glee. 
Thou hast flown in wayward visions. 
In memories of the dead— 
In shadows from a troubled heart, 
O’er thy sunny pathway shed: 
In brief and sudden strivings 
To fling a weight aside— 
’Midst these thy melodies have ceased, 
And all thy roses died. 
But oh ! thou gentle Summer, 
If I greet thy flowers once more, 
Bring me again the buoyancy 
Wherewith my soul should soar! 
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