I love to think of Summer things
and happy hours, content;
the satisfaction pleasure brings
when all my love is scent
of lilac trees and lavender
and sharp, salt, sea air spray
that stings the eyes of passengers
while tripping round the bay.
I yearn to hear the seagulls cry
above the incoming tide
as, swooping, they in circles fly
around the pleasure ride;
the wispy clouds o’er mountain crest
are those I long to see
when summertime that I love best
has once more come to be.
The Sun’s soft rays on golden sands
when evening time draws near
the leaning shadows understand,
and day’s fond memories dear
grow in the heart with sentiments
of sadness and of joy;
so hate again to love repents
as when I was a boy.
I used to ride in country lanes,
to lie in meadows green
and listen to the lark’s sweet names
for beauties yet unseen:
the carpet soft of needles pine
the spinney roof beneath
a peace inspires that’s always mine
despite my constant grief.
And often through the cool night air
I used to homewards walk
beneath a full Moon of despair
with whom I’d quietly talk
about the merits of my love
and sometimes of my faith,
or of the wonders of above
my heart longed to embrace.
But most of all I love the sea -
the distant roar at night
of crashing waves I’ll never see,
where all the ocean’s might
is hurled against a sandy bar,
enchants the silent bay -
and at such times my wishes are
to there forever stay.