Anna Seward

Sonnet 36. Now on hills, rocks, and streams, and vales, and plains

 SUMMER.

Now on hills, rocks, and streams, and vales, and plains,
    Full looks the shining Day.—Our gardens wear
    The gorgeous robes of the consummate Year.
    With laugh, and shout, and song, stout Maids and Swains
Heap high the fragrant hay, as thro' rough lanes
    Rings the yet empty waggon.—See in air
    The pendent cherries, red with tempting stains,
    Gleam thro' their boughs.—Summer, thy bright career
Must slacken soon in Autumn's milder sway;
    Then thy now heapt and jocund meads shall stand
    Smooth,—vacant,—silent,—thro' th' exulting Land
As wave thy Rival's golden fields, and gay
    Her Reapers throng. She smiles, and binds the sheaves;
    Then bends her parting step o'er fall'n and rustling leaves.