English poem
Tis the noon of the sweet, strong summer, the king of the…
by John Reade (1826–)
’Tis the noon of the sweet, strong summer, the king of the months of the year, And the king of the year is crowning our Land with his glory of love, And the King of all kings, in whose crown each gem is the light of a sphere, Looks smilingly down on our Land from the height of His heaven above.
More by John Reade
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- The Sussex woods were bright and red on that October morn
- Then she came, when his heart was grown weary with loving…
- This vengeance Time hath brought thee; and thy foe
- To a Snowbird
- To every season is its own peculiar beauty given
- To-day, three hundred years ago
- Unus Abest