SUMMER

In sylvan glades I bide, in bluebell woods,
'mid wildflow'rs far as the eye can see,

Spring's emerald meadows I deeper tint,

my spirit alights 'pon ev'ry tree.

The briar rose in my aura I clothe,

as sated bees thro' the dense air plough,

thirsty dells in the noonday heat sigh, call

to dewy winds that lave each bough.

My sun kissed lamps the arching bowers rim,

their honeyed sweetness butterflies sip,

wing'd blossoms to groves of old oaks flutter,

their petal hues 'pon woodland floors drip.

'Pon ancient forest spreads young lasses rest,

where Druids 'neath gilded catkins danced,

wreaths half-woven 'pon the grass abandon,

by garlands of flitting blooms entranced.

My music larks thro' dawn's gossamer thread,

as rainbow droplets bedeck the plains,

the early light with scents and vapours melds,

my perfumed haze the laughing springs stains.

Now the great golden orb 'pon the grain smiles,

warmth and light 'pon Nature I bestow,

o'er orchards and fields robust zephyrs glide,

for these isles with plenty to endow.

© 2015 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: FOREST MEADOW

Source: commons.wikimedia.org

Artist: Hans Thoma