A something in a summer’s day,
\nAs slow her flambeaux burn away,
\nWhich solemnizes me.<\/p>\n
A something in a summer’s noon, —
\nAn azure depth, a wordless tune,
\nTranscending ecstasy.<\/p>\n
And still within a summer’s night
\nA something so transporting bright,
\nI clap my hands to see;<\/p>\n
Then veil my too inspecting face,
\nLest such a subtle, shimmering grace
\nFlutter too far for me.<\/p>\n
The wizard-fingers never rest,
\nThe purple brook within the breast
\nStill chafes its narrow bed;<\/p>\n
Still rears the East her amber flag,
\nGuides still the sun along the crag
\nHis caravan of red,<\/p>\n
Like flowers that heard the tale of dews,
\nBut never deemed the dripping prize
\nAwaited their low brows;<\/p>\n
Or bees, that thought the summer’s name
\nSome rumor of delirium
\nNo summer could for them;<\/p>\n
Or Arctic creature, dimly stirred
\nBy tropic hint, — some travelled bird
\nImported to the wood;<\/p>\n
Or wind’s bright signal to the ear,
\nMaking that homely and severe,
\nContented, known, before<\/p>\n
The heaven unexpected came,
\nTo lives that thought their worshipping
\nA too presumptuous psalm.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"