Here is the ghost
Of a summer that lived for us,
Here is a promise
read more

Here is the ghost
Of a summer that lived for us,
Here is a promise
Of summer to be.

Home is home, though it be never so homely.

Home is home, though it be never so homely.

I've read in many a novel, that unless they've souls that
grovel--
Folks prefer in fact a hovel read more

I've read in many a novel, that unless they've souls that
grovel--
Folks prefer in fact a hovel to your dreary marble halls.

Summer, as my friend Coleridge waggishly writes, has set in with
its usual severity.

Summer, as my friend Coleridge waggishly writes, has set in with
its usual severity.

Sumer is y cumen in.

Sumer is y cumen in.

Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.

Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.

Old homes! old hearts! Upon my soul forever
Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter.

Old homes! old hearts! Upon my soul forever
Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter.

I question not if thrushes sing,
If roses load the air;
Beyond my heart I need not read more

I question not if thrushes sing,
If roses load the air;
Beyond my heart I need not reach
When all is summer there.

The Indian Summer, the dead Summer's soul.

The Indian Summer, the dead Summer's soul.