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Denis Florence MacCarthy
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 200 pages of information about Poems.

RECOLLECTIONS.

Ah! summer time, sweet summer scene,
    When all the golden days,
    Linked hand-in-hand, like moonlit fays,
Danced o’er the deepening green.

When, from the top of Pelier[111] down
    We saw the sun descend,
    With smiles that blessings seemed to send
To our near native town.

And when we saw him rise again
    High o’er the hills at morn—­
    God’s glorious prophet daily born
To preach good will to men—­

Good-will and peace to all between
    The gates of night and day—­
    Join with me, love, and with me say—­
Sweet summer time and scene.

Sweet summer time, true age of gold,
    When hand-in-hand we went
    Slow by the quickening shrubs, intent
To see the buds unfold: 

To trace new wild flowers in the grass,
    New blossoms on the bough,
    And see the water-lilies now
Rise o’er the liquid glass.

When from the fond and folding gale
    The scented briar I pulled,
    Or for thy kindred bosom culled
The lily of the vale;—­

Thou without whom were dark the green,
    The golden turned to gray,
    Join with me, love, and with me say—­
Sweet summer time and scene.

Sweet summer time, delight’s brief reign,
    Thou hast one memory still,
    Dearer than ever tree or hill
Yet stretched along life’s plain.

Stranger than all the wond’rous whole,
    Flowers, fields, and sunset skies—­
    To see within our infant’s eyes
The awakening of the soul.

To see their dear bright depths first stirred
    By the far breath of thought,
    To feel our trembling hearts o’erfraught
With rapture when we heard

Her first clear laugh, which might have been
    A cherub’s laugh at play—­
    Ah! love, thou canst but join and say—­
Sweet summer time and scene.

Sweet summer time, sweet summer days,
    One day I must recall;
    One day the brightest of them all,
Must mark with special praise.

’Twas when at length in genial showers
    The spring attained its close;
    And June with many a myriad rose
Incarnadined the bowers: 

Led by the bright and sun-warm air,
    We left our indoor nooks;
    Thou with my paper and my books,
And I thy garden chair;

Crossed the broad, level garden-walks,
    With countless roses lined;
    And where the apple still inclined
Its blossoms o’er the box,

Near to the lilacs round the pond,
    In its stone ring hard by
    We took our seats, where save the sky,
And the few forest trees beyond

The garden wall, we nothing saw,
    But flowers and blossoms, and we heard
    Nought but the whirring of some bird,
Or the rooks’ distant, clamorous caw.

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