In Summer

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When in dry hollows, hilled with hay,
  The vesper-sparrow sings afar;
  And, golden gray, dusk dies away
  Beneath the amber evening-star:
  There, where a warm and shadowy arm
  The woodland lays around the farm,
  To meet you where we kissed, dear heart,
  To kiss you at the tryst, dear heart,
  To kiss you at the tryst!

  When clover fields smell cool with dew,
  And crickets cry, and roads are still;
  And faint and few the fire-flies strew
  The dark where calls the whippoorwill;
  There, in the lane, where sweet again
  The petals of the wild-rose rain,
  To stroll with head to head, dear heart,
  And say the words oft said, dear heart,
  And say the words oft said!

© Madison Julius Cawein