The leaves a gentle yellow, dappled still
With green; the evening a deep’ning blue,
With dizzy silver faces peeking through
All thrumming drunk on sunset’s rosy thrill.

Each brush of night exceeding daylight’s skill,
Dull beams yet catch this undiminished hue:
The peaches’ dusky blush does shade eschew,
And soaks instead what August overfills.

Like lover’s hand, familiar, the palm
Enfolds that tender sphere: that fragrant skin,
Those juices sweet! The heady taste of calm:
To sunlight caught in curtain folds akin,
To reverent draw of breath when singing psalms —
Abundant peace: all summer revels in.