LATE SUMMER

Though summer long delayeth

Her blue and golden boon,

Yet now at length she stayeth

Her wings above the noon;

She sets the waters dreaming

To murmurous leafy tones,

The weeded waters gleaming

Above the stepping-stones.

Where fern and ivied willow

Lean o’ er the seaward brook,

I read a volume mellow —

A poet’ s fairy-book;

The seaward brook is narrow,

The hazel spans its pride,

And like a painted arrow

The king-bird keeps the tide.