Summer Shall Come Again

Summer shall come again, her slender rose Lend its bright ruby to the wind’s blue hand, And over meadows where the clover blows Bronze orchestras of bees awake the land. Small streams shall speak their music to the sun And in the green cathedrals of the trees The robins stare at summer till summer is done And all her splendor ravels to memories. Summer shall come again, and in due time, But in my heart no more her sun will climb Nor any flower unfold its miracle, For she is gone whose laughter was a bell, Whose love made bread and wine of every stone And kindled stars and moons when there were none.