SUMMER'S GOING.
By Mrs. L. C. Whiton.
LEAVES are shrinking on the trees,
Where the nests are hidden;
There's a hush among the bees,
As to roam forbidden;
There's the silk of corn that shows
Faded tangles blowing:
So that everybody knows,
Darling, summer's going.
There are insects' wings that gleam;
Locusts shrilly calling;
There are silences that seem
Into sadness falling;
There is not another rose
But the sweet-brier blowing:
So that everybody knows,
Darling, summer's going.
There's the mist that haunts the night
Into morning sailing,
Leaving filmy webs of light
On the grasses trailing;
There's the fierce red sun that glows,
Through the vapor showing:
So that everybody knows,
Darling, summer's going.
Breathe but softest little sigh.
Child, for vanished roses,
For each season, going by,
Something sweet discloses;
And if in your heart has grown
Truth to fairer blowing,
Summer then will be your own,
Spite of summer's going.