Iii

If other flowers decorate our home, And multiply the splendour of this place, The little lake shines ever from the grass With the large eyes of its ever moving face.

Ah, say, from what deep distances unknown So many gleaming birds have come With wings sun-sown?

July has driven April from the close And bluish tints have given place to red, The skies are torpid and the wind has fled; Joyously brilliant insects fill the air That harks, And summer wanders by, robed with diamonds And sparks.