SUMMER DAYS.
A LITTLE nook of wilderness Between the meadow and the river, Where two erewhile together came, And one will come no more forever.
The rustic bridge, the narrow road, The seat upon the fallen pine, The whisper of the summer woods, So sweet, but not so sweet as thine.
A little wild flower long ago
Among the tangled grasses grew,— So many things are dead since then,
How should not that be withered too ?
Here where we sat I sit alone, Watching until the sun goes down, For though 'tis summer-time to-day, To-morrow will the woods be brown.
Year after year,' the poet sang, Year after year the spirit sighs, And summer days will come again, And suns will set in summer skies,—
But to this bourne of wilderness Between the meadow and the river Will any come because we came, And say,—They come no more forever?
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