A Sonnet

Sweet summer queen, with trailing robe of green, What spell has thou to bind the heart to thee? Thy throne is built upon the sun-lit sea, Where break the waves in clouds of silver sheen And oft at dawn like some resplendent queen, Thou sittest on the hills in majesty; And all the flowers wake at thy decree. But now farewell to all thy joys serene; The autumn comes with swift-winged, silent flight, And he will woo thee with his fiery breath; In crimson robes and hues of flashing gold He'll clothe thee, and thy beauty in the night Will take a richer glow. But wintry death Will come and wrap thee in his fold.