Александр Андерсон (Alexander Anderson)

O, Summer Day

O, summer day, pour down your love,
 That I may idly lie
And watch the happy clouds that move—
 The Mercuries of the sky;

Who, sent by God on some sweet task,
 Will loiter on their way,
As if they gently paused to ask
 His sanction to their stay.

I hear the birds—I see the flowers
 From their cool places peep,
And odorous as the purple hours
 That hush the sun asleep.

I hear each breathing of the wind,
 Each whisper of the tree,
That, taller than its branchy kind,
 Bows down and speaks to me.

A languor creeps throughout my blood,
 Whose happy workings move
The heart to its sublimest mood
 Of all-embracing love.

I feel no idle purpose roll
 Its restless freak in me;
But one vast wish to shoot my soul
 Through everything I see,

And be a part of this sweet light
 That warms the breathing day;
To sink from aught of mortal sight,
 And dream myself from clay.

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