342 It will be Summer—eventually. Ladies—with parasols— Sauntering Gentlemen—with Canes— And little Girls—with Dolls— Will tint the pallid landscape— As `twere a bright Bouquet— Thro` drifted deep, in Parian— The Village lies—today— The Lilacs—bending many a year— Will sway with purple load— The Bees—will not despise the tune— Their Forefathers—have hummed— The Wild Rose—redden in the Bog— The Aster—on the Hill Her everlasting fashion—set— And Covenant Gentians—frill— Till Summer folds her miracle— As Women—do—their Gown— Of Priests—adjust the Symbols— When Sacrament—is done—SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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