To Summer Poem by Francis Joseph Sherman

Summer! I praise thee, who art glorious!
For now the sudden promise of the Spring
Hath been fulfilled in many ways to us,
And all live things are thine.
Therefore, while all the earth

Is glad, and young, and strangely riotous
With love of thee, whose blood is even as wine,
I dare to sing,
Worshipping thee, and thy face welcoming;
I, also a lover of thy most wondrous worth.



Yet with no scorn of any passèd days
Come I, ―who even in April caught great pleasure,―
Making of ancient woes the stronger praise;
Nor build I this new crown
For my new love’s fair head


Of flowers plucked in once oft-travelled ways,
And then forgot and utterly cast down;
But from the measure
Of a strange, undreamt-of, undivided treasure
I glean, and thus my love is garlanded.



Yea, with a crown such as no other queen
That ever ruled on earth wore round her hair,
And garments such as man hath never seen!
The beauty Heaven hath
For thee was magnified;


I think the least of thy bright gold and green
Once lived along God’s best-beloved path,
And angels there
Passed by, and gathered those He called most fair,
And, at His bidding, dressed thee for Earth’s bride.


How at thy coming we were glad again!
We who were nigh to death, awaiting thee;
And fain of death as one aweary of pain.
Life had grown burthensome,
Till suddenly we learned


The joy the old brown earth has, when the rain
Comes, and the earth is glad that it has come:
That ecstasy
The buds have, when the worn snow sets them free,
The sea’s delight when storm-time has returned.



O season of the strong triumphant Sun!
Bringer of exultation unto all!
Behold thy work ere yet thy day be run.
Over thy growing grain
How the winds rise and cease!


Behold these meadows where thick gold lies spun―
There, last night, surely, thy long hair must have lain!
Where trees are tall,
Hear where young birds hold their high festival;
And see where shallow waters know thy peace.



Will any of these things ever pain thine eyes,
Summer, that thou shouldst go another way
Than ours, or shouldst our offerings despise?
Come with me further still
Where, in sight of the sea,


This garden liveth under mellow skies;
Of its dear odors drink thine utmost fill,
And deign to stay
A moment mid its colors’ glad array,―
Is not this place a pleasant one for thee?



Yea, thou wilt ever stay, I know full well!
Why do I fear that thou wilt pass from us?
Is not this earth thy home wherein to dwell?
The perfect ways thereof
Are thy desirèd ones;


Earth hath no voice but of thy worth to tell.
Therefore, as one who loves might praise his love,
So, even thus,
I hail thee, Summer, who art glorious,
And know thy reign eternal as the Sun’s!