Summer - A poem by Ellen P. Allerton

Summer.

The trailing skirts of the summer
Have swept away to the south^___
A blast came down from the northland
And kissed her on the mouth.

She fled from the kiss that chilled her,
From the touch of a frosty hand;
But the work of her busy fingers
Is strewn all over the land.

Wrought she well in the sunshine.
And wrought she well in the rain;
For the corn hangs thick and heavy,
And the garners are filled with grain.

Busy was she in the orchards^___
The rich fruit swings e'erhead,
While the low boughs, overladen,
Lie prone on the paths we tread.

Peaches with coats of velvet;
Apples in satin fine:
Purple grapes by the river,
Where the great coils twist and twine.

For these do we bless the summer,
So fervid, and strong, and sweet;
Autumn but touches and ripens
As he follows her flying feet.

Then sing, oh! sing her praises,
Ye singers with throats in tune;
While the fruit and corn hang heavy,
All under the harvest moon.

^__Ellen P. Allerton.