The scarlet bee-balm blazes
Among the oxeye daisies
And sunflowers droop their heads before the wildoat's rebel spear.
The field of lace-flower shimmers,
And all the meadow glimmers
Beneath the sultry August sun, down shining bright and clear.
I hear the veery calling
His vesper note enthralling,
And see adown the winding creek the silver willows gleam;
And every cone and shingle
And grapevine-threaded dingle,
Comes back, this dreary winter day, to haunt me like a dream.