SUMMER SONG.
Sing me a song of the summer time,Of the sorrel red and the ruby clover,Where the garrulous bobolinks lilt and chimeOver and over.Sing me a song of the strawberry-bent,Of the black-cap hiding the heap of stones,Of the milkweed drowsy with sultry scent,Where the bee drones.Sing me a song of the spring head still,Of the dewy fern in the solitude,Of the hermit-thrush and the whippoorwill,Haunting the wood.Sing me a song of the gleaming scythe,Of the scented hay and the buried wain,Of the mowers whistling bright and blithe,In the sunny rain.Sing me a song of the quince and the gage,Of the apricot by the orchard wall,Where bends my love Armitage,Gathering the fruit of the windfall.Sing me a song of the rustling, slowSway of the wheat as the winds croon,Of the golden disc and the dreaming glowOf the harvest moon.
Sing me a song of the summer time,Of the sorrel red and the ruby clover,Where the garrulous bobolinks lilt and chimeOver and over.Sing me a song of the strawberry-bent,Of the black-cap hiding the heap of stones,Of the milkweed drowsy with sultry scent,Where the bee drones.Sing me a song of the spring head still,Of the dewy fern in the solitude,Of the hermit-thrush and the whippoorwill,Haunting the wood.Sing me a song of the gleaming scythe,Of the scented hay and the buried wain,Of the mowers whistling bright and blithe,In the sunny rain.Sing me a song of the quince and the gage,Of the apricot by the orchard wall,Where bends my love Armitage,Gathering the fruit of the windfall.Sing me a song of the rustling, slowSway of the wheat as the winds croon,Of the golden disc and the dreaming glowOf the harvest moon.
Sing me a song of the summer time,Of the sorrel red and the ruby clover,Where the garrulous bobolinks lilt and chimeOver and over.
Sing me a song of the summer time,
Of the sorrel red and the ruby clover,
Where the garrulous bobolinks lilt and chime
Over and over.
Sing me a song of the strawberry-bent,Of the black-cap hiding the heap of stones,Of the milkweed drowsy with sultry scent,Where the bee drones.
Sing me a song of the strawberry-bent,
Of the black-cap hiding the heap of stones,
Of the milkweed drowsy with sultry scent,
Where the bee drones.
Sing me a song of the spring head still,Of the dewy fern in the solitude,Of the hermit-thrush and the whippoorwill,Haunting the wood.
Sing me a song of the spring head still,
Of the dewy fern in the solitude,
Of the hermit-thrush and the whippoorwill,
Haunting the wood.
Sing me a song of the gleaming scythe,Of the scented hay and the buried wain,Of the mowers whistling bright and blithe,In the sunny rain.
Sing me a song of the gleaming scythe,
Of the scented hay and the buried wain,
Of the mowers whistling bright and blithe,
In the sunny rain.
Sing me a song of the quince and the gage,Of the apricot by the orchard wall,Where bends my love Armitage,Gathering the fruit of the windfall.
Sing me a song of the quince and the gage,
Of the apricot by the orchard wall,
Where bends my love Armitage,
Gathering the fruit of the windfall.
Sing me a song of the rustling, slowSway of the wheat as the winds croon,Of the golden disc and the dreaming glowOf the harvest moon.
Sing me a song of the rustling, slow
Sway of the wheat as the winds croon,
Of the golden disc and the dreaming glow
Of the harvest moon.