A Summer Day

By Alexander Hume


O PERFECT Light, which shaid away
         The darkness from the light,
And set a ruler o'er the day,
         Another o'er the night--

Thy glory, when the day forth flies,
         More vively doth appear
Than at mid day unto our eyes
         The shining sun is clear.

The shadow of the earth anon
         Removes and drawis by,
While in the East, when it is gone,
         Appears a clearer sky.

Which soon perceive the little larks,
         The lapwing and the snipe,
And tune their songs, like Nature's clerks,
         O'er meadow, muir, and stripe.

Our hemisphere is polisht clean,
         And lighten'd more and more,
While everything is clearly seen
         Which seemit dim before:

Except the glistering astres bright,
         Which all the night were clear,
Offuskit with a greater light
         No longer do appear.

The golden globe incontinent
         Sets up his shining head,
And o'er the earth and firmament
         Displays his beams abread.

For joy the birds with boulden throats
         Against his visage sheen
Take up their kindly musick notes
         In woods and gardens green.

The dew upon the tender crops,
         Like pearlis white and round,
Or like to melted silver drops,
         Refreshis all the ground.

The misty reek, the clouds of rain,
         From tops of mountains skails,
Clear are the highest hills and plain,
         The vapours take the vales.

The ample heaven of fabrick sure
         In cleanness does surpass
The crystal and the silver pure,
         Or clearest polisht glass.

The time so tranquil is and still
         That nowhere shall ye find,
Save on a high and barren hill,
         An air of peeping wind.

All trees and simples, great and small,
         That balmy leaf do bear,
Than they were painted on a wall
         No more they move or steir.

Calm is the deep and purple sea,
         Yea, smoother than the sand;
The waves that weltering wont to be
         Are stable like the land.

So silent is the cessile air
         That every cry and call
The hills and dales and forest fair
         Again repeats them all.

The flourishes and fragrant flowers,
         Through Phoebus' fostering heat,
Refresht with dew and silver showers
         Cast up an odour sweet.

The cloggit busy humming bees,
         That never think to drone,
On flowers and flourishes of trees
         Collect their liquor brown.

The Sun, most like a speedy post
         With ardent course ascends;
The beauty of the heavenly host
         Up to our zenith tends.

The burning beams down from his face
         So fervently can beat,
That man and beast now seek a place
         To save them from the heat.

The herds beneath some leafy tree
         Amidst the flowers they lie;
The stable ships upon the sea
         Tend up their sails to dry.

With gilded eyes and open wings
         The cock his courage shows;
With claps of joy his breast he dings,
         And twenty times he crows.

The dove with whistling wings so blue
         The winds can fast collect;
Her purple pens turn many a hue
         Against the sun direct.

Now noon is went; gone is midday,
         The heat doth slake at last;
The sun descends down West away,
         For three of clock is past.

The rayons of the sun we see
         Diminish in their strength;
The shade of every tower and tree
         Extendit is in length.

Great is the calm, for everywhere
         The wind is setting down;
The reek throws right up in the air
         From every tower and town.

The gloming comes; the day is spent;
         The sun goes out of sight;
And painted is the occident
         With purple sanguine bright.

Our west horizon circular
         From time the sun be set
Is all with rubies, as it were,
         Or roses red o'erfret.

What pleasure were to walk and see,
         Endlong a river clear,
The perfect form of every tree
         Within the deep appear.

O then it were a seemly thing,
         While all is still and calm,
The praise of God to play and sing
         With cornet and with shalm!

All labourers draw home at even,
         And can to other say,
Thanks to the gracious God of heaven,
         Which sent this summer day.

DayPoems Poem No. 108
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/108.html">A Summer Day by Alexander Hume</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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