GOOD-BY SUMMER by CAROLINE CONVERSE

O summer, you have said good-by once more,
And autumn now comes knocking at my door
In rust-gold raiment . . . with lusty throat
Crying the harvest . . . too, murmuring a note

On winter with its glistening rain . . .
The hills will be green again.
The mountains, still and stately, ponder beneath cloaks of white
On spring flowers, gay and colored, and the might

Of rushing streams. O summer, I shall miss you,
Want you so . . . your white moon and the blue
Of dreaming hours . . . surely the zenith is your purpling haze,
And O the splendor of your golden days!

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