In lang, lang days o' simmer,
When the clear and cloudless sky
Refuses ae weep drap o' read more

In lang, lang days o' simmer,
When the clear and cloudless sky
Refuses ae weep drap o' rain
To Nature parched and dry,
The genial night, wi' balmy breath,
Gars verdue, spring anew,
An' ilka blade o' grass
Keps its ain drap o' dew.

Before green apples blush,
Before green nuts embrown,
Why, one day in the country
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Before green apples blush,
Before green nuts embrown,
Why, one day in the country
Is worth a month in town.

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.

But see, the shepherds shun the noonday heat,
The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat,
To closer read more

But see, the shepherds shun the noonday heat,
The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat,
To closer shades the panting flocks remove;
Ye gods! and is there no relief for love?

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

O thou who passest through our valleys in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
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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 Indian Summer, the dead Summer's soul.

The Indian Summer, the dead Summer's soul.

O for a lodge in a garden of cucumbers!
O for an iceberg or two at control!
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O for a lodge in a garden of cucumbers!
O for an iceberg or two at control!
O for a vale that at midday the dew cumbers!
O for a pleasure trip up to the pole!

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds read more

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So ling lives this, and this gives life to thee.