The sun a splintered splendor was
In trees, whose waving branches blurred
Its disc, that day we went together,
‘ Mid wild-bee hum and whirring buzz
Of insects, through the fields that purred
With Summer in the perfect weather.
So sweet it was to look and lean
To her young face and feel the light
Of eyes that met my own unsaddened!
Her laugh, that left lips more serene;
Her speech, that blossomed like the white
Life-everlasting there and gladdened.
Maturing Summer! you were fraught
With more of beauty then than now
Parades the pageant of September:
Where what-is-now contrasts in thought
With what-was-once, that bloom and bough
Can only help me to remember.