Classic Poem

When summer days are sweet and long,
And murmuring woods are loud with song,
Then Puck, across the scented land,
Wanders with ever open hand,
And lo, the wheat-fields burn with gold,
And peaches redden in the sun,
And grapes a duskier purple hold,
From changing lights of morning won.

When scarlet poppies gleam with dew,
And skies have grown to deeper blue,
He seeks some mossy cliff, that stands
Where low waves whisper on the sands,
And there, while stars above him shine,
Breathes, through the short, mid-summer night,
Wind-stolen fragrance of the pine
That sentinels the lonely height.

He drains the deep and fragrant well
That lies within the lily's bell,
And wins his knighthood's high degree
In valiant battle with the bee:
The butterflies that find him out,
Where hidden by some leaf he lies,
His rosy lips in mischief flout,
And softly fan his sleepy eyes.

Where winds are still at highest noon,
He hears the lazy water croon
Where minnows skim the lucent pool,
And ferns make shadows deep and cool;
Then fashions, from a floating leaf,
A boat to seek the farther shore,
And brings the dragon-fly to grief
That seeks to bar his passage o'er.

Thus, while the sun refulgent shines
On heavy ladened trees and vines,
Through mellow days and star-sprent nights,
He reaps a harvest of delights.
But when the northern blast grows loud,
Ere yet the woods have lost their green,
Flashing along the drifting cloud,
His southward tending wings are seen.