summer

Written On A Summer Evening

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The church bells toll a melancholy round,
Calling the people to some other prayers,
Some other gloominess, more dreadful cares,
More harkening to the sermon’s horrid sound.
Surely the mind of man is closely bound
In some blind spell: seeing that each one tears
Himself from fireside joys and Lydian airs,
And converse high of those with glory crowned.
Still, still they toll, and I should feel a damp,
A chill as from a tomb, did I not know
That they are dying like an outburnt lamp, –
That ’tis their sighing, wailing, ere they go
Into oblivion -that fresh flowers will grow,
And many glories of immortal stamp.

 

– John Keats

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Summer Night

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Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The firefly wakens: waken thou with me.

Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.

 

– Alfred Lord Tennyson

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Summer Fields

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I dreamt of the days in the summer fields
With plenty of everything woven to all
Each dream that tomorrow in heart there yields
Before there comes murkiness with the fall
Each song that fervor was dear to employ
Inquiring dawn’s after each twilight
Those feelings that days and reality destroy
When there are no wishing stars falling at night

The squall is at ease that the evening gave
With songs to remember each love from you
And now I am here in my loneliness crave
What went out like blossoms out to the blue?
If again we shall meet and come to understand
It shall be in futures today can’t command

 

– Peter S Quinn

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Summer Love

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That summer moment exists,
Thinking of the gleam of all my dreams.
I feel you /I sing the love song.
Every days and nights are the happy days

The love moment of that hot summer
Keeping me alive
As our love sink in happiness
And our life
Heading to new love

As if weather permits to
See you again,
A chance to live with joy,
To let his arms hold me tight
In that summer perfect in time.

Oh! My goodness,
I wish my love life
Will never ending
And my love for you
Will be forever and always

 

– Natasa Tocuc

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A Summer Day

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O perfect light, which shaid away
The darkness from the light,
And set a ruler o’er the day,
Another o’er the night–

Thy glory, when the day forth flies,
More vively doth appear
Than at mid day unto our eyes
The shining sun is clear.

The shadow of the earth anon
Removes and drawis by,
While in the East, when it is gone,
Appears a clearer sky.

Which soon perceive the little larks,
The lapwing and the snipe,
And tune their songs, like Nature’s clerks,
O’er meadow, muir, and stripe.

Our hemisphere is polisht clean,
And lighten’d more and more,
While everything is clearly seen
Which seemit dim before:

Except the glistering astres bright,
Which all the night were clear,
Offuskit with a greater light
No longer do appear.

The golden globe incontinent
Sets up his shining head,
And o’er the earth and firmament
Displays his beams abread.

For joy the birds with boulden throats
Against his visage sheen
Take up their kindly musick notes
In woods and gardens green.

The dew upon the tender crops,
Like pearlis white and round,
Or like to melted silver drops,
Refreshis all the ground.

The misty reek, the clouds of rain,
From tops of mountains skails,
Clear are the highest hills and plain,
The vapours take the vales.

The ample heaven of fabrick sure
In cleanness does surpass
The crystal and the silver pure,
Or clearest polisht glass.

The time so tranquil is and still
That nowhere shall ye find,
Save on a high and barren hill,
An air of peeping wind.

All trees and simples, great and small,
That balmy leaf do bear,
Than they were painted on a wall
No more they move or steir.

Calm is the deep and purple sea,
Yea, smoother than the sand;
The waves that weltering wont to be
Are stable like the land.

So silent is the cessile air
That every cry and call
The hills and dales and forest fair
Again repeats them all.

The flourishes and fragrant flowers,
Through Phoebus’ fostering heat,
Refresht with dew and silver showers
Cast up an odour sweet.

The cloggit busy humming bees,
That never think to drone,
On flowers and flourishes of trees
Collect their liquor brown.

The Sun, most like a speedy post
With ardent course ascends;
The beauty of the heavenly host
Up to our zenith tends.

The burning beams down from his face
So fervently can beat,
That man and beast now seek a place
To save them from the heat.

The herds beneath some leafy tree
Amidst the flowers they lie;
The stable ships upon the sea
Tend up their sails to dry.

With gilded eyes and open wings
The cock his courage shows;
With claps of joy his breast he dings,
And twenty times he crows.

The dove with whistling wings so blue
The winds can fast collect;
Her purple pens turn many a hue
Against the sun direct.

Now noon is went; gone is midday,
The heat doth slake at last;
The sun descends down West away,
For three of clock is past.

The rayons of the sun we see
Diminish in their strength;
The shade of every tower and tree
Extendit is in length.

Great is the calm, for everywhere
The wind is setting down;
The reek throws right up in the air
From every tower and town.

The gloming comes; the day is spent;
The sun goes out of sight;
And painted is the occident
With purple sanguine bright.

Our west horizon circular
From time the sun be set
Is all with rubies, as it were,
Or roses red o’erfret.

What pleasure were to walk and see,
Endlong a river clear,
The perfect form of every tree
Within the deep appear.

O then it were a seemly thing,
While all is still and calm,
The praise of God to play and sing
With cornet and with shalm!

All labourers draw home at even,
And can to other say,
Thanks to the gracious God of heaven,
Which sent this summer day.

 

Alexander Hume

 

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Just A Quiet Summer Afternoon

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Just a quiet summer afternoon
Easy comfortable conversation
Two old friends
Catching up on each others lives
Touching only in passing,
And lightly,
On the past they had shared.

Did they think
Their worlds so different
And needs so
Changed?
That the passing years
Had faded passion
Like a photograph
Left too long in the sun?

When he leaned in to kiss her cheek
Was it her loneliness and longing
That turned her lips to his?
Was it his emptiness and needing
That stretched and deepened his kiss?

If the hour had not been so late
If home and family had not called.
Would she have stayed?
And in each other’s
Arms could they have
For one quiet summer afternoon
Found comfort in forgetting
And release in remembering?
Touching only in passing,
And lightly,
On the past they had shared.

 

– Richard Quinby

 

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Summer Is The Perfect Time

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The sun was shining brightly
As I drove home from school today;
The days are getting warmer and
The rain had gone away.

Summer is a time to be
Enjoying summer days
Relaxing, reading, sleeping late,
Swimming, catching rays.

No more schedules ‘til the fall,
No schoolwork to get done;
Summer is the perfect time
For having lots of fun.

I can stay up later now
And watch my favorite shows,
Go to movies, shop the malls,
And, after that, who knows?

Let’s make the most of every day,
There is no time to lose,
It’s wonderful to have the chance
To do anything we choose.

‘Cause it’s not fun to play alone,
Come spend a day with me;
Summer is the perfect time,
I know you will agree.

 

– Gail Grierson

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Brown, Edward Archibald, 1866-1935; A Summer Afternoon, the Fields, Bengeo, Hertfordshire