God of mercies—when I slept,
World on world of summer kept
Turning, turning softly by,—
Summer earth and summer sky:
Fields of summer that will be
Summer always unto me—
Never lost, not left behind:
Always summer for my mind.
SUMMER
From what lost centuries that were sweet before,
Comes this long wave of Summer, bursting white
In shivered apple-blossoms on the shore
That is our homeland for a day and night!
A wide, hushed spirit floats above the foam,
A sweetness that was ancient flower and face,
When wine-red poppies stained the walls of Rome,
And daisies starred those summer fields of Thrace.
Something survives and haunts the leafy shade,
Some fragrance that was petals, once, and lips,
And whispered, brief avowals that they made,—
Borne hither, now, in vague, invisible ships,
Whose weightless cargoes, poured upon the air,
Are flowers forgot, and faces that were fair.
OLD SHIPS
There is a memory stays upon old ships,
A weightless cargo in the musty hold,—
Of bright lagoons and prow-caressing lips,
Of stormy midnights,—and a tale untold.
They have remembered islands in the dawn,
And windy capes that tried their slender spars,
The tortuous channels where their keels have gone,
And calm, blue nights of stillness and the stars.