Summer Weather

The little winds that make the summer weather
So dear and fresh a flower on our day
Have blown out dancing swift footsteps together,
Have swept our feet into one common way.
And, dear my sweet, your mouth is young with singing,
Your name a madrigal upon my heart,
And laughter in your shining eyes is flinging
So deep a snare that we shall never part.
But when the little silver waves come treading
Their measured way upon the sands' hot gold,
Or when our dim and scented way we're threading
Among the trees that are so still and old—
Or when the winds run over gleaming grasses,
Bowing and lifting underneath their feet,
I shall be there to see each light that passes
Over your face, and hear each accent sweet.
And we shall love, my dear, with fragile kissing,
And run, hands clasping, down the long green hill
Into the sunset; and, when davlight's missing.
We shall stand heart to heart, and very still.
There shall we watch the night's soft joy together,
Oh sweet my dear, until the waking light,
And so go dancing through the summer weather,
Hallowed with love, and all love's strange delight.

—Ishbel Veitch.