A golden glory lies along the hills;
A few light cirri float across the blue
Of the far sky. In leafy coverts, thrills
Of bird songs waken, but the notes are few.
The bees hum lazily, though flowers are sweet,
And ripened fruits blush with a gleam of red;
And drowsily the cattle move and eat,
With eager, buzzing flies about each head;
And the hot sun is now in its full prime,
For it is summer time.

Silently through the meadow flows the stream,
Flashing, but murmurless; not as in spring,
When, rich in music, it sent out a gleam
Of silver where, mid rocks, its eddying ring
Made mimic whirlpools. Slowly waves the corn,
And slowly swing the scythes along the field
Where weary workers wait the dinner-horn,
That noontide rest to tired arms will yield;
And slowly doth the locust sing his chime
In the ripe summer time.

High overhead the bright sun holds his way;
His lucent rays glow in the mellow peach,
The apples catch his fire at close of day,
Pears, berries, flowers, he gives his strength to each;
And though so hot he is, his torrid beams
Make the grapes purple grow along the wall;
With harvest gold the heavy grain-field gleams,
And swallows sharply to each other call;
And the sad whip-poor-will doth chant his rhyme,
These nights of summer time.

Oh, happy time of blossom, fruit, and leaf,
When all the land is glad with glorious life,
When barns grow rich with many a high-piled sheaf,
And forest warblers make melodious strife.
Long may you crown the passing of the years
With promise of a plenteous autumn store,
Robbing old winter of its grizzly fears
That cast their phantom shadows on before.
Welcome, fair bounty, gladdening our sweet clime,
Refulgent summer time!