Grant me end-of-summer’s silken thread
That I may take it in my careful grasp
Between my fingers, its sweet strand to clasp
And others gather withal this first to wed
Then in carful carpet, artful spread
To lay withal upon the ageing grass
I’ll dream that summertime will never pass
Beneath the vaulted sky above my head
A vaulted sky that soon shall cleave and crack
And heave and groan and finally rend apart
Titan furies pouring high born waters back
Upon the earth in crystal forms of art
And summer’s dream has died alas! alack!
Yet I shall bear its warmth within my heart.