Summer is come; the corn is in the ear,
The haze is swimming where the beeches stand;
Summer is come, though winter months be here —
My love is summer passing through the land.
Summer is come; I hear the skylarks sing,
The honeysuckle flaunts it to the bees;
Summer is come, and‘ tis not yet the spring —
My love is summer blessing all she sees.
Summer is come; I see an open door,
A sweet hand beckons, and I know
That, winter or summer, I shall go forth no more —
My heart is homing where her summer-roses grow.