Elin Danielson-Gambogi, "Girl with cats in a summer landscape" (1892)I like it when the girls stop by in the summer. Do you remember? Do you remember, when we met that summer? —Richard B. Cronin
Summer is one of the four traditional seasons, delineated by hot weather.
Yeah, I like it when the girls stop by in the summer. Do you remember? Do you remember, when we met that summer? New Kids On The Block, had a bunch of hits. Chinese food makes me sick and I think it's fly when girls stop by for the summer... Think about that summer and I bug, because I miss it.
The loorie brought to his cinnamon nest. The bee from the midst of its honey quest, And open the leaves of the lotus lay To welcome the noon of the summer day.
That beautiful season the Summer of All-Saints! Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.
The summer dawn's reflected hue To purple changed Loch Katrine blue, Mildly and soft the western breeze Just kiss'd the lake, just stirr'd the trees, And the pleased lake, like maiden coy, Trembled but dimpled not for joy.
Walter Scott,Lady of the Lake (1810), Canto III, Stanza 2.
Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
From brightening fields of ether fair-disclosed, Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes, In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth; He comes, attended by the sultry Hours, And ever-fanning breezes, on his way.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate —William Shakespeare
All-conquering Heat, O, intermit thy wrath! And on my throbbing temples, potent thus, Beam not so fierce! incessant still you flow, And still another fervent flood succeeds, Pour'd on the head profuse. In vain I sigh, And restless turn, and look around for night; Night is far off; and hotter Hours approach.
What does winter or autumn or spring or summer know ofmemory. They know nothing ofmemory. They know that seasons pass and return. They know that they are seasons. That they are time. And they know how to affirm themselves. And they know how to impose themselves. And they know how to maintain themselves. What doesautumn know of summer. What sorrows do seasons have. None hate. None love. They just pass.
And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.
In lang, lang days o' simmer, When the clear and cloudless sky Refuses ae wee drap o' rain To Nature parched and dry, The genial night, wi' balmy breath, Gars verdure 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 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.
Oh, father's gone to market-town, he was up before the day, And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay, And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill, While mother from the kitchen door is calling with a will, "Polly!—Polly!—The cows are in the corn! Oh, Where's Polly?"
Famous old Round. The music is the oldest piece of polyphonic and canonical composition in existence. This portion was written probably in 1226 by a monk, John of Fornsete, at the Abbey of Reading. Original is in Harleian Manuscript, 978.
As a lodge in a garden of cucumbers.
Isaiah. I. 8.
O for a lodge in a garden of cucumbers! O for an iceberg or two at control! O for a vale that at midday the dew cumbers! O for a pleasure trip up to the pole!
O summer day beside the joyous sea! O summer day so wonderful and white, So full of gladness and so full of pain! Forever and forever shalt thou be To some the gravestone of a dead delight, To some the landmark of a new domain.
Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade. Where'er you tread the blushing flowers shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
But see, the shepherds shun the noonday heat, The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat, To closer shades the panting flocks remove; Ye gods! and is there no relief for love?
.jpg)
.jpg)
