Peter S. Quinn
I am bound to you for evermore,
My summer sweet and fair;
Your beauty always I adore,
When songs of birds are in the air.
Every flower and every tree,
With freshness ripens again;
And so it is likewise with me,
When summer does not abstain.
Glories of the new and fresh,
Comes to us every year;
This summer shall not be no less,
I am glad it is again here.
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