Make me a picture of the sun –
So I can hang it in my room –
And make believe I’m getting warm
When others call it “Day”!

Draw me a Robin — on a stem –
So I am hearing him, I’ll dream,
And when the Orchards stop their tune –
Put my pretense — away –

Say if it’s really — warm at noon –
Whether it’s Buttercups — that “skim” –
Or Butterflies — that “bloom”?
Then — skip — the frost — upon the lea –
And skip the Russet — on the tree –
Let’s play those — never come!

Pigmy seraphs — gone astray –
Velvet people from Vevay –
Balles from some lost summer day –
Bees exclusive Coterie –
Paris could not lay the fold
Belted down with Emerald –
Venice could not show a check
Of a tint so lustrous meek –
Never such an Ambuscade
As of briar and leaf displayed
For my little damask maid –

I had rather wear her grace
Than an Earl’s distinguished face –
I had rather dwell like her
Than be “Duke of Exeter” –
Royalty enough for me
To subdue the Bumblebee.

These are the days when Birds come back –
A very few — a Bird or two –
To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies resume
The old — old sophistries of June –
A blue and gold mistake.

Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee –
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear –
And softly thro’ the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.

Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze –
Permit a child to join.

Thy sacred emblems to partake –
They consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!