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'Tis summer!"--and it melts away.
Mary Mapes Dodge.
_The Water! the Water!_
The Water! the Water!
The joyous brook for me, That tuneth through the quiet night Its ever-living glee.
The Water! the Water!
That sleepless, merry heart, Which gurgles on unstintedly, And loveth to impart, To all around it, some small measure Of its own most perfect pleasure.
The Water! the Water!
The gentle stream for me, That gushes from the old gray stone Beside the alder-tree.
The Water! the Water!
That ever-bubbling spring I loved and look'd on while a child, In deepest wondering,-- And ask'd it whence it came and went, And when its treasures would be spent.
The Water! the Water!
The merry, wanton brook That bent itself to pleasure me, Like mine old shepherd crook.
The Water! the Water!
That sang so sweet at noon, And sweeter still all night, to win Smiles from the pale proud moon, And from the little fairy faces That gleam in heaven's remotest places.
William Motherwell.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] _From "Along the Way," by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons._
III
HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS
_Then the little Hiawatha Learned of every bird its language, Learned their names and all their secrets, How they built their nests in Summer, Where they hid themselves in Winter, Talked with them whene'er he met them, Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens."_
_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._
HIAWATHA'S CHICKENS
_The Swallows_
Gallant and gay in their doublets gray, All at a flash like the darting of flame, Chattering Arabic, African, Indian-- Certain of springtime, the swallows came!
Doublets of gray silk and surcoats of purple, And ruffs of russet round each little throat, Wearing such garb they had crossed the waters, Mariners sailing with never a boat.
Edwin Arnold.
_The Swallow's Nest_
Day after day her nest she moulded, Building with magic, love and mud, A gray cup made by a thousand journeys, And the tiny beak was trowel and hod.
Edwin Arnold.
_The Birds in Spring_
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then Maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing-- Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The Palm and May make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the Shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay-- Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The Fields breathe sweet, the Daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, In every Street these Tunes our ears do greet-- Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring, the sweet Spring!
Thomas Nashe.
_Robin Redbreast_
(A Child's Song)
Good-bye, good-bye to Summer!
For Summer's nearly done; The garden smiling faintly, Cool breezes in the sun;
Our Thrushes now are silent, Our Swallows flown away,-- But Robin's here, in coat of brown, With ruddy breast-knot gay.
