In the Lane, by Madison Cawein

  When the hornet hangs in the hollyhock,
    And the brown bee drones i' the rose;
  And the west is a red-streaked four-o'clock,
    And summer is near its close—
  It's oh, for the gate and the locust lane,
  And dusk and dew and home again!

  When the katydid sings and the cricket cries,
    And ghosts of the mists ascend;
  And the evening star is a lamp i' the skies,
    And summer is near its end—
  It's oh, for the fence and the leafy lane,
  And the twilight peace and the tryst again!

  When the owlet hoots in the dogwood tree,
    That leans to the rippling Run;
  And the wind is a wildwood melody,
    And summer is almost done—
  It's oh, for the bridge and the bramble lane,
  And the fragrant hush and her hands again!

  When fields smell sweet with the dewy hay,
    And woods are cool and wan,
  And a path for dreams is the Milky Way,
    And summer is nearly gone—
  It's oh, for the rock and the woodland lane,
  And the silence and stars and her lips again!

  When the weight of the apples breaks down the boughs,
    And muskmelons split with sweet;
  And the moon is a light in Heaven's house,
    And summer has spent its heat—
  It's oh, for the lane, the trysting lane,
  The deep-mooned night and her love again!