SUMMER SCHEMES
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HEN friendly summer calls again,Calls againHer little fifers to these hills,We’ll go—we two—to that arched faneOf leafage where they prime their billsBefore they start to flood the plainWith quavers, minims, shakes, and trills.“—We’ll go,” I sing; but who shall sayWhat may not chance before that day! And we shall see the waters spring,Waters springFrom chinks the scrubby copses crown;And we shall trace their oncreepingTo where the cascade tumbles downAnd sends the bobbing growths aswing,And ferns not quite but almost drown.“—We shall,” I say; but who may singOf what another moon will bring!
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