Summertime

A bowstring taut with afternoon The cricket cello deep within the walk Where russet refuse frosts before the musing moon Where waving weed surrenders shrill the strident stalk And rustling weed reverberates with locust-talk

Goldenrod is squired in beggar’s splendor And races through the tree-holes in a tippling rime Heavy is the hickory and easy is provender And gentian’s pensive cups resound with rhyme When, in their depths, they snare the cricket’s chime.