Go, My Summer by Julia Collins Ardayne

Go, my summer, where the fields 

Still hold the sound of laden bee; 

And red-top yields its treasure 

To the comb so soon replete. 

Go, summer, while there is yet time, 

Remembering meadows where the sweet 

Wild berries grew and daisies, 

White as stars, spread to the sun; 

While yet the tree but little stained with frost 

Tells of the shade its branches made at noon. 

Go now, my summer, soon! ere long the owl 

Will shiver and the leaf will fade. 

My bare feet knew a wood's stream, cool, 

Where sanded bar and shelving pool 

Dreamed in the sun and silver-fleshed trout 

Flecked the way of speckled water, rushing free. 

Haste, summer, flee! 

But find again 

The shadow of the oak, the pine, 

Before the red leaf drift from tree, from vine, 

And song be hushed. 

O haste, my summer, lest you wait 

Too long . . . too late.