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While summer roses all their glory yield To crown the votary of love and joy, Misfortune’s victim hails, with many a sigh, Thee, scarlet Poppy of the pathless field, Gaudy, yet wild and lone; no leaf to shield Thy flaccid...

Summer, red violin, clear cloud, a buzz saw or cicada precedes you, the vaulted sky, smooth, shiny as an eye, and under your gaze, summer, fish from the infinite sky flattering elytron, lethargic bee belly, devilish sun, terrible and paternal...

On a May Saturday in 1853, Emily Dickens writes to her brother, Austin:   “Today is very beautiful — just as bright, just as blue, just as green and as white, and as crimson, as the cherry trees full in...

"I think that you will all agree that we are living in most interesting times. I never remember myself a time in which our history was so full, in which day by day brought us new objects of interest, and,...

Lord: it is time. The summer was immense. Lay your shadow on the sundials and let loose the wind in the fields. Bid the last fruits to be full; give them another two more southerly days, press them to ripeness,...