I could write such a beautiful poem
About this summer day
If my pen could catch the beauty
Of every leaf and spray,
And the music all about me
Of brooks, and winds, and birds,
But the greatest poet living
Cannot put them into words.
If I might, you would hear all through it
The whispering of the breeze,
Like a fine and far-off echo
Of the ocean's harmonies.
You would hear the song of the robin
A-swing in the appletree,
And the voice of the river going
On its search for the great gray sea.
You would breathe the fragrance of clover
In the words of every line,
And incense out of the censors
Of hillside larch and pine.
You would see through the words the roses
And deep in their hearts of gold
The sweets of a thousand summers,
But words are so weak, so cold!
If I only could write the color
Of the lilacs' tossing plume,
And make you feel in a sentence
The spell of its rare perfume:—
If my pen could catch the glory
Of the clouds and the sunset sky,
And the peace of the summer twilight
My poem would never die!