Short Summer Poems

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Short Summer Poems



Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date




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Here comes summer
Here comes summer
Chirping Robins, budding roses
Here comes summer
Here comes summer
Gentle showers, summer clothes
Here comes summer
Here comes summer
Whoosh-shiver there it goes




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In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.

In summer quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.

I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,

Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.




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At evening when I go to bed
I see the stars shine overhead;

They are the little daisies white
That dot the meadow of the Night.

And often while I'm dreaming so,
Across the sky the Moon will go;

It is a lady, sweet and fair,
Who comes to gather daisies there.




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For stately trees in rich array,
For sunlight all the happy day,

For blossoms radiant and rare,
For skies when daylight closes,

For joyous, clear, outpouring song
From birds that all the green wood throng,

For all things young, and bright, and fair,
We praise thee, Month of Roses!




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Give me the joys of summer,
Of SUMMER QUEEN so fair,
With wealth of lovely flowers
And fruits and sun-kissed air!

Talk not to me of winter
With ice and frost and snow,
Nor changing spring and autumn
When howling winds will blow.

No, I will take the joys
Of SUMMER every time,
So to this Queen of Seasons
I dedicate my rhyme.




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"Summer is coming!" the soft breezes whisper;
"Summer is coming!" the glad birdies sing.

Summer is coming - I hear her quick footsteps;
Take your last look at the beautiful Spring.

Lightly she steps from her throne in the woodlands:
"Summer is coming, and I cannot stay;

Two of my children have crept from my bosom:
April has left me but lingering May.




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Look! Look down in the garden how.
The firefly lights are flitting now !

A million tiny sparks I know.
Flash through the pinks and golden-glow,

And I am very sure that all.
Have come to light a fairy ball,

And if I could stay up I'd see.
How gay the fairy folks can be!




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In the morning, very early,.
That's the time I love to go

Barefoot where the fern grows curly.
And the grass is cool between each toe,

On a summer morning !
On a summer morning!




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So, so, spade and hoe,
Little pile of sand;

See it turning into dough.
In the baby's hand!

Little pie with crimpy crust,
Set it in the sun;

Sugar it with powdered dust,
And bake it till it's done.




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Answer July .
Where is the Bee .
Where is the Blush .
Where is the Hay?

Ah, said July .
Where is the Seed .
Where is the Bud .
Where is the May .
Answer Thee — Me .




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Thirsty, desert garden
so dried up and doleful
from study window seems
neglected and woeful
this decade of drought
has taken harsh toll
and left browning fronds
on ferns in dust bowl




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I knew a summer man in winter
With hair of gold and eyes of silver
And where he walked the sun grew dimmer
I knew a summer man in winter




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I'd like to have a garden
With a beech tree on the lawn
The little birds that lived there
Would wake me up at dawn.




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When I was down beside the sea
A wooden spade they gave to me
To dig the sandy shore.
My holes were empty like a cup.
In every hole the sea came up
Till it could come no more.




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Were you honed from poetry?
I asked your saddened smile.
For it seems to tell a longing tale
One of words in oratory
That speaks in languid metaphors
From lips of mind in deep despair
And solitude from inner wars
That over time has rendered life so frail.




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Short Summer Poems

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