Dead August

Dieii last night at twelve o'clock The richest month of all the year, The beltetl gram iu sheaf and shoc, Like gold eucampments faraud uear. The roBe tree uiourus in spider's crape, At half mast stands the hollybock; The rock that five leaved ivie drape Has dared to rob gome prinee of Tyre, And wear his uurole rob of fire. The lively loeust's rattling watch Is always busy ruuuing down, The cricket sings his breath lees catch , Aud sunflower's lit theyellow crowu, A8 if a f airy graveyard lent lts sleuder bomis to dance a match; Cicadas knees aud elbows beDt la flurnes whirl, a crazy set, fo click the Moorish castanet Unto this August time has told Down thirty perfect days in rhyme, Dnsullied houre a minute oíd, A minute f rom some celestial clime, With two f uil moons to shine the while. T welve hours were silver, twelve were gold, FourSabbalh momings' peacef ui smilo To light the radiant weeks along, With flush of leaf and üight of song. Oh, quoeu of monthB, a splendid dower Was tinne, and yet thou couldst not wait For all this wealth ono little hour, But met inevitable fate! Broad leaves have hid all summer long Aprecious thing beside my gate; One after oue each floral throng Had perished, but tboso leaves stiii kept ïheir secret, as if something slept hand had put tuose leaves aside; Lo, August lilies light the day! 3o fair, as if sooie angel died And took this monumental way; So pure, as if some singer fweet Had touclied it with her lips aud sighed, Because those lives so fleet, fhosadear, gay Uhes only Ia6t kVhileeach swiftday is going past, d yet, why uot? Why tarry here TUI dark ad (irear November comes To play the dead march on its drums )f sleet, aud fretze the falüng tear'?