A wayward breeze, the summer's latest born,
Teased the stiff grain and bent the stately corn,
Or rocked the bird-nests in the prickly thorn.
Above, the lavish sun filled air with gold;
Again, below, on mimic waves it rolled,
And hid in lily cups. Her netted hair
Gleamed in the splendor, bright beyond compare,
Forming about her head a nimbus rare.
The velvet mullen raised its yellow head,
The buttercups like precious ore were spread: