Summer's Passing

written by


« Reload image

A SINGLE branch of flaming red,
  A branch of tawny yellow
And every branch in gorgeousness
  A rival of its fellow;
Some russet brown and faded green
With golden shadows in between
  And mist-hid sun to mellow.

An instinct as of music near--
  A breath the wind is bringing,
Broken and sweet, as from a host
  Of swift and solemn winging--
A mystery born of light and sound
Wrapping our tranced progress round--
  A sighing and a singing!

Thus in a certain lovely pomp
  We leave the Summer lying--
These are her funeral banners, this
  The pageantry of dying!
The music that we almost hear
Is wafted from her passing bier--
  The singing and the sighing!

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay