Like Summer.

November? 'tis a summer's day!

For tropic airs are blowing

As soft as whispered roundelay

From unseen lips that seem to say

To feathered songsters going

To sunnier, southern climes afar,

"Stay where you are - stay where you are!"

And other tokens glad as these

Declare that Summer lingers:

Round latent buds still hum the bees,

Slow fades the green from forest trees

Ere Autumn's artist fingers

Have touched the landscape, and instead

Brought out the amber, brown, and red.

The invalid may yet enjoy

His favorite recreation,

Gay, romping girl, unfettered boy

In outdoor sports the time employ,

And happy consummation

Of prudent plans the farmer know

Ere wintry breezes round him blow.

And they by poverty controlled -

Good fortune shall betide them

As scenes of beauty they behold,

And seem to revel in the gold

Which Plutus has denied them;

For, ah! the poor from want's despair

Oft covet wealth they never share.