Finis

An idle rhyme of the summer time,
Sweet, and solemn, and tender;
Fair with the haze of the moon’s pale rays,
Bright with the sunset’s splendor.

Summer and beauty over the lands—
Careless hours of pleasure;
A meeting of eyes and a touching of hands—
A change in the floating measure.

A deeper hue in the skies of blue,
Winds from the tropics blowing;
A softer grace on the fair moon’s face,
And the summer going, going.

The leaves drift down, the green grows brown,
And tears with smiles are blended;
A twilight hour and a treasured flower,—
And now the poem is ended.