His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!
The Bee. E. DICKINSON.
Still as night
Or summer's noontide air.
Paradise Lost, Bk. II. MILTON.
Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn.
A Christmas Carol. S.T. COLERIDGE.
The Summer looks out from her brazen tower,
Through the flashing bars of July.
A Corymbus for Autumn. F. THOMPSON.
Dead is the air, and still! the leaves of the locust and walnut
Lazily hang from the boughs, inlaying their intricate outlines
Rather on space than the sky,—on a tideless expansion of slumber.
Home Pastorals: August. B. TAYLOR.
AUTUMN.
Then came the Autumne, all in yellow clad,
As though he joyèd in his plenteous store,
Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full glad
That he had banished hunger, which to-fore
Had by the belly oft him pinchèd sore;
Upon his head a wreath, that was enrold
With ears of corne of every sort, he bore,
And in his hand a sickle he did holde,
To reape the ripened fruit the which the earth had yold.
Faërie Queene, Bk. VII. E. SPENSER.
And the ripe harvest of the new-mown hay
Gives it a sweet and wholesome odor.
Richard III. (Altered), Act v. Sc. 3. C. CIBBER.
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,
Led yellow Autumn, wreathed with nodding corn.
Brigs of Ayr. R. BURNS.
Yellow, mellow, ripened days.
Sheltered in a golden coating
O'er the dreamy, listless haze,
White and dainty cloudlets floating;