Summer
The summer sun is high and bright, The fields are gold with glowing light; And nature wears her robe of grace, While bliss doth linger round the place.
In gardens, all with flowers ripe, Where honeybees their nectar pipe, I walk among the fragrant blooms, Lost in the sweet odorous plumes.
O summer fair, thou art so sweet; With moments glorious feel our feet. Around us sings life’s merry voice; In golden shades, we too rejoice!
- John Clare