Songs of the Last Summer

I.

Fionn doth sings:

  A glory on the chamber wall!

A glory in the rain!

Triumphant floods of glory fall

On heath, and wold, and plain.


The world lays still in helpless bliss;

With sound of Summer shore;

Forget that days come after this

Forget the days before.


In Blue above, a flickering fire

Of gladness, as it runs;

The flares will laugh, and leap and spire,

The twinkling of the Sun.


But hark! low, in the world within,

One sad harmoniai drone:

'Ah! shall we ever, ever win

A summer of our own?'


II.

A morn of winds and creaking trees-

Earth's jubilance rushing out!

The insects purring in the reeds;

The waters heave about.


The clouds doth sweep across the sky,

Their shadows o'er the graves;

Purpling the green, they float and fly

Athwart the sunny waves.


The long grass an' earth-rooted sea

Mimic the watery strife.

To boat or horse? Wild motions we

Shall find in harmonious life.


But where to? Swing and sweep and bend

Suffice for Nature's part;

But motion to an endless end

Is needful for our heart.


III.

The morn awakens like brooding doves,

With outspread wings of gray;

Her feathery clouds close in above,

And roof a sober day.


Be still now, in the deeps of air!

No trembling in the leaves!

A still contentment everywhere,

That shakes internally!


A film of sheeted silver white

Shuts in the ocean blue;

White-winged feluccas cleave their way

In paths of gorgeous hue.


Dream on, dream on, O dreamy day,

Thy very clouds are dreams!

Yon child is dreaming far away --

He is not where he seems.


IV.

The lark is up, his faith is strong,

He mounts the morning air;

Lone voice of all the creature throng,

He sings the morning prayer.


Slow clouds from north and south appear,

Black-based, with shining slope;

In sullen forms their might they rear,

And climb the vaulted cope.


A lightning flash, a thunder boom! --

Nor sun nor clouds are there;

A single, all-pervading gloom

Hangs in the heavy air.


A weeping, wasting afternoon

Weighs down the aspiring corn;

Amber and red, the sunset soon

Leads back to golden morn.


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Author's Notes

This poem is WIP and is based off of this poem by George MacDonald.


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