Late Summer

Though summer long delayeth Her blue and golden boon, Yet now at length she stayeth Her wings above the noon; She sets the waters dreaming To murmurous leafy tones, The weeded waters gleaming Above the stepping-stones.

Where fern and ivied willow Lean o’er the seaward brook, I read a volume mellow-- A poet’s fairy-book; The seaward brook is narrow, The hazel spans its pride, And like a painted arrow The king-bird keeps the tide.