When as the rye reach to the chin,
And chopcherry, chopcherry ripe within,
Strawberries swimming in the cream,
And school-boys playing in the stream;
Then O, then O, then O my true love said,
Till that time come again,
She could not live a maid.
|
The cold blast at the casement beats; |
I feel the breath of the summer night, The white moths flutter about the lamp, |
Summer is fading; the broad leaves that grew |
No more the battle or the chase |
I found a yellow flower in the grass, Above, the sky was clear, save where at times |
“oh dear! is Summer over?” “Oh, why did Summer leave me, ... |
IN summer, when the days were long, We strayed from morn till evening came; |
Has summer come without the rose, |
We ’ll not weep for summer over,— Other eyes may weep his dying, Unto... |