Classic Poem

Summer is fading; the broad leaves that grew
So freshly green, when June was young, are falling;
And, all the whisper-haunted forest through,
The restless birds in saddened tones are calling,
From rustling hazel copse and tangled dell,
" Farewell, sweet Summer,
Fragrant, fruity Summer,
Sweet, farewell! "

Upon the windy hills, in many a field,
The honey-bees hum slow, above the clover,
Gleaning the latest sweets its blooms may yield,
And, knowing that their harvest-time is over,
Sing, half a lullaby and half a knell,
" Farewell, sweet Summer,
Honey-laden Summer,
Sweet, farewell! "

The little brook that babbles mid the ferns,
O'er twisted roots and sandy shallows playing,
Seems fain to linger in its eddied turns,
And with a plaintive, purling voice is saying
(Sadder and sweeter than my song can tell),
" Farewell, sweet Summer,
Warm and dreamy Summer,
Sweet, farewell! "

The fitful breeze sweeps down the winding lane
With gold and crimson leaves before it flying;
Its gusty laughter has no sound of pain.
But in the lulls it sinks to gentle sighing,
And mourns the Summer's early broken spell, —
" Farewell, sweet Summer,
Rosy, blooming Summer,
Sweet, farewell! "

So bird and bee and brook and breeze make moan,
With melancholy song their loss complaining.
I too must join them, as I walk alone
Among the sights and sounds of Summer's waning. . . .
I too have loved the season passing well. . . .
So, farewell, Summer,
Fair but faded Summer,
Sweet, farewell!