All labours draw hame at even,
And can to others say,
"Thanks to the gracious God of read more

All labours draw hame at even,
And can to others say,
"Thanks to the gracious God of heaven,
Whilk sent this summer day."

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.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds read more

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.
Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So ling lives this, and this gives life to thee.

In lang, lang days o' simmer,
When the clear and cloudless sky
Refuses ae weep drap o' read more

In lang, lang days o' simmer,
When the clear and cloudless sky
Refuses ae weep drap o' rain
To Nature parched and dry,
The genial night, wi' balmy breath,
Gars verdue, spring anew,
An' ilka blade o' grass
Keps its ain drap o' dew.

O thou who passest through our valleys in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
read more

O thou who passest through our valleys in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
That flames from their large nostrils! Thou, O Summer,
Oft pitchest here thy golden tent, and oft
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.

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.

These are the forgeries of jealousy;
And never, since the middle summer's spring,
Met we on hill, read more

These are the forgeries of jealousy;
And never, since the middle summer's spring,
Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
By paved fountain or by rushy brook,
Or in the beached margent of the sea,
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,
But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport.

Oh, the summer night
Has a smile of light
And she sits on a sapphire throne.

Oh, the summer night
Has a smile of light
And she sits on a sapphire throne.

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all read more

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all the clouds that lowered upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.