Summer (An Ode)

Now like a pageant of the Golden YearIn rich memorial pomp the hours go by,With rose-embroidered flags unfurledAnd tasselled bugles calling through the worldWake, for your hope draws near!Wake, for in each soft porch of azure sky,Seen through each arch of pale green leaves, the GateOf Eden swings apart for Summer's royal state.

Ah, when the Spirit of the moving sceneHas entered in, the splendour will be spent!The flutes will cease, the gates will close;Only the scattered crimson of the rose,The wild wood's hapless queen,Dis-kingdomed, will declare the way he went;And, in a little while, her court will go,Pass like a cloud and leave no trace on earth below.

Tell us no more of Autumn, the slow goldOf fruitage ripening in a world's decay,The falling leaves, the moist rich breathOf woods that swoon and crumble into deathOver the gorgeous mould:Give us the flash and scent of keen-edged MayWhere wastes that bear no harvest yield their bloom,Rude crofts of flowering nettle, bents of yellow broom.

The very reeds and sedges of the fenOpen their hearts and blossom to the sky;The wild thyme on the mountain's kneesUnrolls its purple market to the bees;Unharvested of menThe Traveller's Joy can only smile and die.Joy, joy alone the throbbing whitethroats bring,Joy to themselves and heaven! They were but born to sing!

And see, between the northern-scented pines,The whole sweet summer sharpens to a glow!See, as the well-spring plashes coolOver a shadowy green fern-fretted poolThe mystic sunbeam shinesFor one mad moment on a breast of snowA warm white shoulder and a glowing armUp-flung, where some swift Undine sinks in shy alarm.

And if she were not all a dream, and lentLife for a little to your own desire,Oh, lover in the hawthorn lane,Dream not you hold her, or you dream in vain!The violet, spray-besprentWhen from that plunge the rainbows flashed like fire,Will scarce more swiftly lose its happy dewThan eyes which Undine haunts will cease to shine on you.

What though the throstle pour his heart away,A happy spendthrift of uncounted gold,Swinging upon a blossomed briarWith soft throat lifted in a wild desireTo make the world his may.Ever the pageant through the gates is rolledFurther away; in vain the rich notes throngFlooding the mellow noon with wave on wave of song.

The feathery meadows like a lilac sea,Knee-deep, with honeyed clover, red and white,Roll billowing: the crisp clouds passTrailing their soft blue shadows o'er the grass;The skylark, mad with glee,Quivers, up, up, to lose himself in light;And, through the forest, like a fairy dreamThrough some dark mind, the ferns in branching beauty stream.

Enough of joy! A little respite lend,Summer, fair god that hast so little heedOf these that serve thee but to die,Mere trappings of thy tragic pageantry!Show us the end, the end!We too, with human hearts that break and bleed,March to the night that rounds their fleeting hour,And feel we, too, perchance but serve some loftier Power.

O that our hearts might pass away with thee,Burning and pierced and full of thy sweet pain,Burst through the gates with thy swift soul,Hunt thy most white perfection to the goal,Nor wait, once more to seeThy chaliced lilies rotting in the rain,Thy ragged yellowing banners idly hungIn woods that have forgotten all the songs we sung!

Peace! Like a pageant of the Golden YearIn rich memorial pomp the hours go by,With rose-embroidered flags unfurledAnd tasselled bugles calling through the worldWake, for your hope draws near!Wake, for in each soft porch of azure sky,Seen through each arch of pale green leaves, the GateOf Eden swings apart for Summer's royal state.

Not wait! Forgive, forgive that feeble cryOf blinded passion all unworthy thee!For here the spirit of man may claimA loftier vision and a nobler aimThan e'er was born to die:Man only, of earth, throned on Eternity,From his own sure abiding-place can markHow earth's great golden dreams go past into the dark.