The Oriole sings in the greening grove <br />As if he were half-way waiting, <br />The rosebuds peep from their hoods of green, <br />Timid, and hesitating. <br />The rain comes down in a torrent sweep <br />And the nights smell warm and pinety, <br />The garden thrives, but the tender shoots <br />Are yellow-green and tiny. <br />Then a flash of sun on a waiting hill, <br />Streams laugh that erst were quiet, <br />The sky smiles down with a dazzling blue <br />And the woods run mad with riot.<br /><br />Paul Laurence Dunbar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/summer-in-the-south/
