When he was old and thin <br />And knew not night or day <br />He would sit up to say <br />Something of the fire within. <br />How woefully his chin <br />Moved so slowly as he tried <br />Some lusty word to say: <br />Tell Summer that I died. <br /> <br />When gladness sweeps the land, <br />And to the white sky <br />Cool butterflies go by, <br />And sheep in shadow stand; <br />When Love, the old command, <br />Turns every hate aside, <br />In the unstinted days <br />Tell Summer that I died.<br /><br />John Shaw Neilson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tell-summer-that-i-died/
