Читать книгу The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 12, No. 70, August, 1863 - Various - Страница 3

Hilary,

Summer calls thee, o'er the sea!

Like white flowers upon the tide,

In and out the vessels glide;

But no wind on all the main

Sends thy blithe soul home again:

Every salt breeze moans for thee,

Hilary!

Hilary,

Welcome Summer's step will be,

Save to those beside whose door

Doleful birds sit evermore

Singing, "Never comes he here

Who made every season's cheer!"

Dull the June that brings not thee,

Hilary!

Hilary,

What strange world has sheltered thee?

Here the soil beneath thy feet

Rang with songs, and blossomed sweet;

Blue skies ask thee yet of Earth,

Blind and dumb without thy mirth:

With thee went her heart of glee,

Hilary!

Hilary,

All things shape a sigh for thee!

O'er the waves, among the flowers,

Through the lapse of odorous hours,

Breathes a lonely, longing sound,

As of something sought, unfound:

Lorn are all things, lorn are we,

Hilary!

Hilary,

Oh, to sail in quest of thee,

To the trade-wind's steady tune,

Past the hurrying monsoon,

Into torrid seas, that lave

Dry, hot sands,—a breathless grave,—

Sad as vain the search would be,

Hilary!

Hilary,

Chase the sorrow from the sea!

Summer-heart, bring summer near,

Warm, and fresh, and airy-clear!

—Dead thou art not: dead is pain;

Now Earth sees and sings again:

Death, to hold thee, Life must be,

Hilary!