In Summer

There were the black pine trees, 
        And the sullen hills 
        Frowning; there were trills 
        Of birds, and the sweet hot sun, 
        And little rills 
        Of water, everyone 
Singing and prattling; there were bees

Honey-laden, tuneful, a song
        Far-off, and a timid air 
        That sighed and kissed my hair, 
        My hair that the hot sun loves. 
        The day was very fair, 
        There was wooing of doves, 
And the shadows were not yet long. 

And I lay on the soft green grass, 
        And the smell of the earth was sweet,
        And I dipped my feet 
        In the little stream;
        And was cool as a flower is cool in the heat, 
        And the day lay still in a dream, 
And the hours forgot to pass. 

And you came, my love, so stealthily 
        That I saw you not 
        Till I felt that your arms were hot 
        Round my neck, and my lips were wet
        With your lips, I had forgot  
        How sweet you were. And lo! the sun has set, 
And the pale moon came up silently. 


                                                    ^{Thuringewald, 1892}