Dropping roses from her hand, Came dear Summer down the land, With her hair a tawny banner By the breezes fanned. And she looked and laughed at me, Where I sat all mournfully, Counting over my lost labors Near a cypress tree. And she said: "Oh! why repine? All these patient works of mine— Leaves and flowers and fragrant apples— I must soon resign. "Not one blossom will remain: But do I, like thee, complain? Nay, I pause and rest a season, Then begin again." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD SEXTON by PARK BENJAMIN ONLY ONE MOTHER by GEORGE COOPER O YOU WHOM I OFTEN AND SILENTLY COME by WALT WHITMAN ADMIRAL EVANS by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE UNITED STATES SUPREME COURT by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE TO BEAUTY by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |