Without her mild breezes on land and on sea?
And what would awaken the sweet-scented flowers
To burst in their beauty in lone forest bowers?
Did I not bend o’er them and joyfully sing—
“A loved one is coming, the maiden is Spring.”
Gay Summer, bright Summer, all joyous and fair,
Gives life to the desert, perfume to the air,
But the rays of her sun are too scorching and bright,
The lovely flowers languish and droop ere the night:
Then stealing at twilight from out my lone cave,