Classic Poem

August is here; within the ivy leaves
The bees make mournful music, and the sea
Is pale with presaged Autumn and wild songs
Wanton upon the waves ... Strange spirits speak
Within the dusk-winds; phantom-hands implore
Sweet Summer back again. The sunshine stands
Reluctantly upon the mountain-top
Smiling farewell to the awaiting waves.
Already evening brings a scent of frost,
And late the white dew lies upon the lawn.
The harvest moon grows pallid in the sky,
And far the stars seem on their sapphire thrones.

August is here, and soon September's chill
Will fade the flowers in their glowing beds;
Love, only Love, survives the Season's change.