Fair Summer Droops
Fair summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore,
So fair a summer look for nevermore:
All good things vanish less than in a day,
Peace, plenty, pleasure, suddenly decay.
Go not yet away, bright soul of the sad year,
The earth is hell when thou leav'st to appear.
What, shall those flowers that decked thy garland erst,
Upon thy grave be wastefully dispersed?
O trees, consume your sap in sorrow's source,
Streams, turn to tears your tributary course.
Go not yet hence, bright soul of the sad year,
The earth is hell when thou leav'st to appear.
poem by Thomas Nashe
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Related quotes
Too soon so fair, fair lilies
TOO soon so fair, fair lilies;
To bloom is then to wane;
The folded bud has still
To-morrow at its will;
Blown flowers can never blow again.
Too soon so bright, bright noontide;
The sun that now is high
Will henceforth only sink
Towards the western brink;
Day that's at prime begins to die.
Too soon so rich, ripe summer,
For autumn tracks thee fast;
Lo, death-marks on the leaf!
Sweet summer, and my grief;
For summer come is summer past.
Too soon, too soon, lost summer;
Some hours and thou art o'er.
Ah! death is part of birth:
Summer leaves not the earth,
But last year's summer lives no more.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Thy Voice from Inmost Dreamland Calls
Thy voice from inmost dreamland calls;
The wastes of sleep thou makest fair;
Bright o'er the ridge of darkness falls
The cataract of thy hair.
The morn renews its golden birth:
Thou with the vanquished night dost fade;
And leav'st the ponderable earth
Less real than thy shade.
poem by William Watson
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Reluctant Summer
Reluctant Summer! once, a maid
Full easy of access,
In many a bee-frequented shade
Thou didst thy lover bless.
Divinely unreproved I played,
Then, with each liberal tress--
And art thou grown at last afraid
Of some too close caress?
Or deem'st that if thou shouldst abide
My passion might decay?
Thou leav'st me pining and denied,
Coyly thou say'st me nay.
Ev'n as I woo thee to my side,
Thou, importuned to stay,
Like Orpheus' half-recovered bride
Ebb'st from my arms away.
poem by William Watson
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If Thou'lt Be Mine
If thou'lt be mine, the treasures of air,
Of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet;
Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair,
Or in Hope's sweet music sounds most sweet,
Shall be ours -- if thou wilt be mine, love!
Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove,
A voice divine shall talk in each stream;
The stars shall look like world of love,
And this earth be all one beautiful dream
In our eyes -- if thou wilt be mine, love!
And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high,
Like streams that come from heaven-ward hills,
Shall keep our hearts, like meads, that lie
To be bathed by those eternal rills,
Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love!
All this and more the Spirit of Love
Can breathe o'er them who feel his spells;
That heaven, which forms his home above,
He can make on earth, wherever he dwells,
As thou'lt own, -- if thou wilt be mine, love!
poem by Thomas Moore
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A Question
I.
SOUL, spirit, genius--which thou art--that whence
I know not, rose upon this mortal frame
Like the sun o'er the mountains, all aflame,
Seen large through mists of childish innocence,
And year by year with me uptravelling thence,
As hour by hour the day-star, madest aspire
My nature, interpenetrate with fire
It felt but understood not--strong, intense,
Wisdom with folly mixed, and gold with clay;--
Soul, thou hast journeyed with me all this way.
Oft hidden and o'erclouded, oft arrayed
In scorching splendors that my earth-life burned,
Yet ever unto thee my true life turned,
For, dim, or clear, 't was thou my daylight made.
II.
SOUL, dwelling oft in God's infinitude,
And sometimes seeming no more part of me--
This me, worms' heritage--than that sun can be
Part of the earth he has with warmth imbued,--
Whence camest thou? whither goest thou? I, subdued
With awe of mine own being--thus sit still,
Dumb, on the summit of this lonely hill,
Whose dry November-grasses dew-bestrewed
Mirror a million suns--That sun, so bright,
Passes, as thou must pass, Soul, into night:
Art thou afraid, who solitary hast trod
A path I know not, from a source to a bourne,
Both which I know not? fear'st thou to return
Alone, even as thou camest, alone, to God?
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Belated
BLITHE summer blossom, born too late,
Wilt make my desert garden fair?
Lo Winter's hand is on the gate,
His breath is in the curdling air.
Still yesterweek, but yesterweek,
Thou hadst, unfolding in warm light,
Spread ripening to the crimson streak
And seed to make the next year bright.
But now there fall the latter rains,
The chills that brown the ferns are come;
Southward, above the shivering plains,
The eddying swallows hasten home.
Oh flower too frail, too late of birth,
There is no sun for such as thou:
Droop down upon the barren earth;
What boots it to have blossomed now?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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The Warmth Of The Sand (Demo Version)
Relax and stand, in the warmth of the sand
The day is long and here for us to take for granted
And find ourselves to our knees
The water clear, the tender breeze upon our faces
As we bask in our good graces
Yeah, we all are golden here
In summer, in summer
Where night belongs to lust and lovers
In summer, in summer
And I appear to win you over
You will be mine this year (this year, this year, this year)
The sun is set, and the, the moon is high
The night is long and here for you and I to capture
We float ourselves to the gills, with icy drinks that bolster wills
And we are braver for the moment
Yeah, we all are golden here
In summer, in summer
Where all the girls bare olive shoulders
In summer, in summer
And I appear to win you over
You will be mine this year (this year, this year, this year)
The courtyard where the garden stands
Behind the beach at Crystal Sands
We shed our clothes and felt romantic
Tempted by the moon fantastic
Bright and warm and ours alone
Absolve us from the sins we own
And from one year into another
I think of you and I feel summer
In summer, in summer
Where all the girls bare olive shoulders
In summer, in summer
Where all you hope for is another
In summer, in summer
Where night belongs to lust and lovers
In summer, in summer
And I appear to win you over
You will be mine this year
(this year, this year, this year, this year, this year, this year, this year)
song performed by by Dashboard Confessional
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Child’s Dream
Buried in childhood’s cloudless dreams, a fair-haired nursling lay,
A soft smile hovered round the lips as if still oped to pray;
And then a vision came to him, of beauty, strange and mild,
Such as may only fill the dreams of a pure sinless child.
Stood by his couch an angel fair, with radiant, glitt’ring wings
Of hues as bright as the living gems the fount to Heaven flings;
With loving smile he bent above the fair child cradled there,
While sounds of sweet seraphic power stole o’er the fragrant air.
“Child, list to me,” he softly said, “on mission high I’m here:
Sent by that Glorious One to whom Heav’n bows in loving fear;
I seek thee now, whilst thou art still on the threshold of earth’s strife,
To speak of what thou knowest not yet, this new and wond’rous life.
“Dost cling to it? dost find this earth a fair and lovely one?
Dost love its bright-dyed birds and flowers, its radiant golden sun?
I come to bid thee leave it all—to turn from its bright bloom,
And, having closed thine eyes in death, descend into the tomb.
“Thou shudderest, child! with restless gaze from me thou turn’st away;
’Mid summer flowers and singing birds wouldst thou remain to play;
Thou still wouldst bask in the dear light of thy fond father’s smile,
And on thy mother’s doating heart would linger yet awhile.
“’Tis well, sweet child, I blame thee not, but in spheres far away
Are blossoms lovelier far than those which tempt thee here to stay;
And if the love of parents fond with joy thy heart doth fill,
In those bright distant realms is One who loves thee better still!
“That One for thee in suffering lived—for thy sake, too, he died;
Oh! like the ocean is His love, as deep, my child, as wide.
Leave, then, this earth ere hideous sin thy spotless brow shall dim—
One struggling breath, one parting pang, and then thou’lt be with Him!”
A smile lit up the sleeper’s face, but soon it softly fled,
The rose leaf cheeks and lips grew wan—could it be the child was dead?
Yes, dead—and spared the ills of life, and in bright bliss above
The pure soul nestles in the light of God’s unbounded Love.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Summer time to have fun
Summer is the fun time when get go swimming
Summer when I was born and took care of
Summer when July 4 comes around
every year
Summer is when you can lay out in sun
Summer is best time at night see
stars out
Summer when all families and friends
go to park with their kids
Summer is good time take animals
for a walk
Summer is good time of the season
plant flowers and stuff
Summer when I meet good friends online
that lives another state then we do
Summer is when I meet good guy to
talk to about anything I want and he lists
to me
Summer is when my birthday comes around
Summer when my mom birthday comes around
Summer is day I went swimming with my best friend
this year
Summer is when Amber birthday is
Summer is time of the year have cook out with friends
and your family.
Summer is good time year to have good time and swimming
and party and just have fun with everyone
poem by Kristina Riggs
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The Soul's Complaint Against The Body. (From The Anglo-Saxon)
Much it behoveth
Each one of mortals,
That he his soul's journey
In himself ponder,
How deep it may be.
When Death cometh,
The bonds he breaketh
By which were united
The soul and the body.
Long it is thenceforth
Ere the soul taketh
From God himself
Its woe or its weal;
As in the world erst,
Even in its earth-vessel,
It wrought before.
The soul shall come
Wailing with loud voice,
After a sennight,
The soul, to find
The body
That it erst dwelt in;--
Three hundred winters,
Unless ere that worketh
The Eternal Lord,
The Almighty God,
The end of the world.
Crieth then, so care-worn,
With cold utterance,
And speaketh grimly,
The ghost to the dust:
'Dry dust! thou dreary one!
How little didst thou labor for me!
In the foulness of earth
Thou all wearest away
Like to the loam!
Little didst thou think
How thy soul's journey
Would be thereafter,
When from the body
It should be led forth.'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Seasons of the Heart
The different hues that deck the earth
All in our bosoms have their birth;
'Tis not in the blue or sunny skies,
'Tis in the heart the summer lies!
The earth is bright if that be glad,
Dark is the earth if that be sad:
And thus I feel each weary day-
'Tis winter all when thou'rt away!
In vain, upon her emerald car,
Comes Spring, 'the maiden from afar,'
And scatters o'er the woods and fields
The liberal gifts that nature yields;
In vain the buds begin to grow,
In vain the crocus gilds the snow;
I feel no joy though earth be gay-
'Tis winter all when thou'rt away!
And when the Autumn crowns the year,
And ripened hangs the golden ear,
And luscious fruits of ruddy hue
The bending boughs are glancing through,
When yellow leaves from sheltered nooks
Come forth and try the mountain brooks,
Even then I feel, as there I stray-
'Tis winter all when thou'rt away!
And when the winter comes at length,
With swaggering gait and giant strength,
And with his strong arms in a trice
Binds up the streams in chains of ice,
What need I sigh for pleasures gone,
The twilight eve, the rosy dawn?
My heart is changed as much as they-
'Tis winter all when thou'rt away!
Even now, when Summer lends the scene
Its brightest gold, its purest green,
Whene'er I climb the mountain's breast,
With softest moss and heath-flowers dress'd,
When now I hear the breeze that stirs
The golden bells that deck the furze,
Alas! unprized they pass away-
'Tis winter all when thou'rt away!
But when thou comest back once more,
Though dark clouds hang and loud winds roar,
And mists obscure the nearest hills,
And dark and turbid roll the rills,
Such pleasures then my breast shall know,
That summer's sun shall round me glow;
Then through the gloom shall gleam the May-
'Tis winter all when thou'rt away!
poem by Denis Florence MacCarthy
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Song.—Thou art gone
Thou art gone, and the brilliant light that shone
In the track of thy way is fled;
And thou leav'st the heart that loved thee alone,
Silent, and cold, and dead!
When thy smile arose, like the morning's beam,
All the world seem'd good and bright
But 'tis past like the lovely forms of a dream,
And I wake to the gloom of night.
poem by Louisa Stuart Costello
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Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Sonnet 18
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
poem by William Shakespeare from Sonnets (1609)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? (Sonnet 18)
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Exemplary - after William Shakespeare Sonnet XVIII
Shall I compare her? In what galaxy,
And when or where? No mirror could reflect
Nature's epitome so talent decked,
Gainsaying self, Time holds all time in fee!
Telescopes in vain seek other sun
One half as bright, whose universal joy,
Might Big Bang justify, all it begun.
All would exchange their place for her employ.
Myths don truth’s dress, coeval, - past, to be,
Aeons root, shoot, fruit, tree, end and start,
Under, above, in, out, earth, sky and sea,
Do merge, name frame as “all in one” apart.
Exemplary, all praise she’ll gain through giving,
Cycles may spin, yet one, though lost stays living.
© Jonathan Robin & Maude Corrieras Acrostic Sonnet Sang to ma Maude C 17 June 2008
Author notes
Sonnet XVIII
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often in his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
William Shakespeare Sonnet XVIII
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Noble Spanish Soldier
O, SORROW, SORROW, say where dost thou dwell?
In the lowest room of hell.
Art thou born of human race?
No, no, I have a furier face.
Art thou in city, town, or court?
I to every place resort?
O, why into the world is Sorrow sent?
Men afflicted best repent.
What dost thou feed on?
Broken sleep.
What takest thou pleasure in?
To weep,
To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groan,
To wring my hands, to sit alone.
O when, O when shall Sorrow quiet have?
Never, never, never, never,
Never till she finds a grave.
poem by Thomas Dekker
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The Grave
The grave that they dug him had flowers
Gathered from the hillsides in bright summer colors,
And the brown earth bleached white at the edge of his gravestone.
Hes gone.
When the wars of our nation did beckon,
A man barely twenty did answer the calling.
Proud of the trust that he placed in our nation,
Hes gone,
But eternity knows him, and it knows what weve done.
And the rain fell like pearls on the leaves of the flowers
Leaving brown, muddy clay where the earth had been dry.
And deep in the trench he waited for hours,
As he held to his rifle and prayed not to die.
But the silence of night was shattered by fire
As guns and grenades blasted sharp through the air.
And one after another his comrades were slaughtered.
In morgue of marines, alone standing there.
He crouched ever lower, ever lower with fear.
They cant let me die! the cant let me die here!
Ill cover myself with the mud and the earth.
Ill cover myself! I know Im not brave!
The earth! the earth! the earth is my grave.
The grave that they dug him had flowers
Gathered from the hillsides in bright summer colors,
And the brown earth bleached white at the edge of his gravestone.
Hes gone.
song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Christian Philosopher's A.B.C.
Alone and hopeless in a world of woe,
By friends deceived, and spurned by many a foe,
Can man exist, and think, and act, nor feel
Despondency o'er all his being steal?
E'en faith in God and His all-gracious plan
Fails when we lack man's sympathy for man.
'Give us,' we cry, 'friends faithful and sincere—
Happy our present, and our future clear ;
In peace, oh God, our cups with plenty fill,
Join earth to heaven, all sin and sorrow kill;
Kill want and woe, then we shall gladly own
Love rules the earth, and God doth reign alone—
Mercy His crown, and Righteousness His throne!'
Nay, speak not so, it ill becomes a clod
Of lowly earth to dictate to his God !
Put down rebellion in thee, and no more
Question those gifts God poureth from his store.
Remember whence thou art, and whither bent ;
Say not 'tis evil which the Lord hath sent
To serve His gracious ends. He shall hold sway
Until each soul shall love him and obey.
Virtue brings peace. Seek her and thou shall find
What arms 'gainst griefs the philosophic mind.
Xantippe might scold, yet Socrates pursued,
Year in, year out, his philosophic mood—
Zealous for God, and for the cause of good.
poem by John Liddell Kelly
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Hell and Half-Hell
Hell became a game in mid-winter,
Where are we now?
Hell exhaled last summer and first summer,
Why are we allowed?
Hell was told not to be Heaven in spring,
When would that be?
Hell is half of all Pain in the year through,
And since when?
poem by Naveed Akram
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