from summer by amy lowell, 1874 - 1925
above me spreads the hot, blue mid-day sky,
far down the hillside lies the sleeping lake
lazily reflecting back the sun,
and scarcely ruffled by the little breeze
which wanders idly through the nodding ferns.
the blue crest of the distant mountain, tops
the green crest of the hill on which i sit;
and it is summer, glorious, deep-toned summer,
the very crown of nature's changing year
when all her surging life is at its full.
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