Sweet summer is gone; they have laid her away- <br />The last sad hours that were touched with her grace- <br />In the hush where the ghosts of the dead flowers play; <br />The sleep that is sweet of her slumbering space <br />Let not a sight or a sound erase <br />Of the woe that hath fallen on all the lands: <br />Gather, ye dreams, to her sunny face, <br />Shadow her head with your golden hands. <br /> <br />The woods that are golden and red for a day <br />Girdle the hills in a jewelled case, <br />Like a girl's strange mirth, ere the quick death slay <br />The beautiful life that he hath in chase. <br />Darker and darker the shadows pace <br />Out of the north to the southern sands, <br />Ushers bearing the winter's mace: <br />Keep them away with your woven hands. <br /> <br />The yellow light lies on the wide wastes gray, <br />More bitter and cold than the winds that race, <br />From the skirts of the autumn, tearing away, <br />This way and that way, the woodland lace. <br />In the autumn's cheek is a hectic trace; <br />Behind her the ghost of the winter stands; <br />Sweet summer will moan in her soft gray place: <br />Mantle her head with your glowing hands. <br /> <br />Envoi. <br /> <br />Till the slayer be slain and the spring displace <br />The might of his arms with her rose-crowned bands, <br />Let her heart not gather a dream that is base: <br />Shadow her head with your golden hands.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ballade-of-summer-s-sleep/
