Summer
A fragment
High on the crest of the blossoming grasses,
Bending and swaying with face toward the sky,
Stirred by the lightest west wind as it passes,
Hosts of the silver-white daisy-stars lie!
I, looking up through the mists of the flowers,
I, lying low on the earth thrilled with June,
Give not a thought to the vanishing hours,
Save that they melt into twilight too soon!
Blossoms of peaches float down for my cover,
Snow-flakes that blushed to be kissed by the sun,
Blossoms of apples drift over and over,
White they with grief that their short day is done!
Buttercup's lanterns are lighted about me,
Burly red clover's warm cheek presses mine;
Powdery Bee never once seems to doubt me,
Tipping each chalice for Summer's new wine!
Tiny white butterflies ("Brides" children name them)
Flicker and glimmer, and turn in their flight;
Surely the sunshine suffices to tame them,
Close to my hand they will swing and alight !
Small timid breezes, than butterflies shyer,
Just for a moment soft buffet my face,
Then fly away to the tree-tops and higher,
Shaking down shadows o'er every bright space.
~~
Margaret Deland
from The Old Garden, and other verses, 1889
[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]
Margaret Deland biography
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