Like Summer.

November? 'tis a summer's day!         For tropic airs are blowing     As soft as whispered roundelay     From unseen lips that seem to say         To feathered songsters going     To sunnier, southern climes afar,     "Stay where you are - stay where you are!"     And other tokens glad as these         Declare that Summer lingers:     Round latent buds still hum the bees,     Slow fades the green from forest trees         Ere Autumn's artist fingers     Have touched the landscape, and instead     Brought out the amber, brown, and red.     The invalid may yet enjoy         His favorite recreation,     Gay, romping girl, unfettered boy     In outdoor sports the time employ,         And happy consummation     Of prudent plans the farmer know     Ere wintry breezes round him blow.     And they by poverty controlled -         Good fortune shall betide them     As scenes of beauty they behold,     And seem to revel in the gold         Which Plutus has denied them;     For, ah! the poor from want's despair     Oft covet wealth they never share.