A something in a summer’s Day
As slow her flambeaux burn away
Which solemnizes me.
A something in a summer’s noon
A depth an Azure a perfume
And still within a summer’s night
A something so transporting bright
I clap my hands to see
Then veil my too inspecting face
Lets such a subtle
Flutter too far for me
The wizard fingers never rest
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes it narrow bed
Still rears the East her amber Flag
Guides still the sun along the CragHis Caravan of Red
So looking on the night the morn
Conclude the wonder gay
And I meet, coming thro’ the dews
Another summer’s Day!
by Robert Louis Stevenson
Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.
Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.
The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.
Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy's inmost nook.
Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.