And the daughter of Zion is left as a cottage in a vineyard, as a
lodge in a garden read more

And the daughter of Zion is left as a cottage in a vineyard, as a
lodge in a garden of cucumbers, as a besieged city.

The Indian Summer, the dead Summer's soul.

The Indian Summer, the dead Summer's soul.

O thou who passest through our valleys in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
read more

O thou who passest through our valleys in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
That flames from their large nostrils! Thou, O Summer,
Oft pitchest here thy golden tent, and oft
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.

The summer dawn's reflected hue
To purple changed Lock Katrine blue,
Mildly and soft the western breeze
read more

The summer dawn's reflected hue
To purple changed Lock Katrine blue,
Mildly and soft the western breeze
Just kiss'd the lake, just stirr'd the trees,
And the pleased lake, like maiden coy,
Trembled but dimpled not for joy.

All labours draw hame at even,
And can to others say,
"Thanks to the gracious God of read more

All labours draw hame at even,
And can to others say,
"Thanks to the gracious God of heaven,
Whilk sent this summer day."

Summer, as my friend Coleridge waggishly writes, has set in with
its usual severity.

Summer, as my friend Coleridge waggishly writes, has set in with
its usual severity.

I question not if thrushes sing,
If roses load the air;
Beyond my heart I need not read more

I question not if thrushes sing,
If roses load the air;
Beyond my heart I need not reach
When all is summer there.

That beautiful season
. . . the Summer of All-Saints!
Filled was the air with a dreamy read more

That beautiful season
. . . the Summer of All-Saints!
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the
landscape
Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.

Did he so often lodge in open field,
In winter's cold and summer's parching heat,
To conquer read more

Did he so often lodge in open field,
In winter's cold and summer's parching heat,
To conquer France, his true inheritance?