St. Martin's Summer
After the summer's fierce and thirsty glare,
After the falling leaves and falling rain,
When harsh winds beat the fields of ripened grain
And autumn's pennons from the branches flare,
There comes a stilly season, soft and fair,
When clouds are lifted, winds are hushed again,
A phantom Summer hovering without pain
In the veiled radiance of the quiet air;
When, folding down the line of level seas,
A silver mist at noonday faintly broods,
And like becalméd ships the yellow trees
Stand islanded in windless solitudes,
Each leaf unstirred and parching for the breeze
That hides and lingers northward in the woods.
After the summer's fierce and thirsty glare,
After the falling leaves and falling rain,
When harsh winds beat the fields of ripened grain
And autumn's pennons from the branches flare,
There comes a stilly season, soft and fair,
When clouds are lifted, winds are hushed again,
A phantom Summer hovering without pain
In the veiled radiance of the quiet air;
When, folding down the line of level seas,
A silver mist at noonday faintly broods,
And like becalméd ships the yellow trees
Stand islanded in windless solitudes,
Each leaf unstirred and parching for the breeze
That hides and lingers northward in the woods.