A Lost Summer Ode
O, summer, where hast thou gone?
Methinks this be Merrie England in August,
but alas, you offer us no weather
to put strawberries on our scone.
The sky is grey, the land looks drear,
the air is chilly, the sun shines not here.
Why, this summer deserves not an ode
or a sonnet, tis not agreeable
enough to please a toad.
Yet I know too well not to dwell in sorrow,
for the air may swell with sunshine ere tomorrow.