August skies, where is the voice of spring?
July hath heard the latest bird last sing.
And June, O, June, how many more to thee
Have called sincerest hearts incessantly?
August skies are ye dumb, or is hope fled?
Have ye the will? Burdened fail ye to spread
Glad being afar? O, August skies wide cries
High silences, await next Spring's replies.
