It is summer! it is summer! how beautiful it looks! br There is sunshine on the old gray hills, and sunshine on the brooks br A singing-bird on every bough, soft perfumes on the air, br A happy smile on each young lip, and gladness everywhere. br br Oh! is it not a pleasant thing to wander through the woods, br To look upon the painted flowers, and watch the opening buds; br Or seated in the deep cool shade at some tall ash-tree's root, br To fill my little basket with the sweet and scented fruit? br br They tell me that my father's poor - that is no grief to me br When such a blue and brilliant sky my upturn'd eye can see; br They tell me, too, that richer girls can sport with toy and gem; br It may be so - and yet, methinks, I do not envy them. br br When forth I go upon my way, a thousand toys are mine, br The clusters of dark violets, the wreaths of the wild vine; br My jewels are the primrose pale, the bind-weed, and the rose; br And shew me any courtly gem more beautiful than those. br br And then the fruit! the glowing fruit, how sweet the scent it breathes! br I love to see its crimson cheek rest on the bright green leaves! br Summer's own gift of luxury, in which the poor may share, br The wild-wood fruit my eager eye is seeking everywhere. br br Oh! summer is a pleasant time, with all its sounds and sights; br Its dewy mornings, balmy eves, and tranquil calm delights; br I sigh when first I see the leaves fall yellow on the plain, br And all the winter long I sing - Sweet summer, come again.