Sonnet XXXVI. Summer.
Now on hills, rocks, and streams, and vales, and plains, Full looks the shining Day. - Our gardens wear The gorgeous robes of the consummate Year. With laugh, and shout, and song, stout Maids and Swains Heap high the fragrant hay, as thro' rough lanes Rings the yet empty waggon. - See in air The pendent cherries, red with tempting stains, Gleam thro' their boughs. - Summer, thy bright career Must slacken soon in Autumn's milder sway; Then thy now heapt and jocund meads shall stand Smooth, - vacant, - silent, - thro' th' exulting Land As wave thy Rival's golden fields, and gay Her Reapers throng. She smiles, and binds the sheaves; Then bends her parting step o'er fall'n and rustling leaves. June 27th, 1782.
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"Now on hills, rocks, and streams, and vales, and plains,..."
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