There is a June when Corn is cut
And Roses in the Seed —
A Summer briefer than the first
But tenderer indeed
As should a Face supposed the Grave’s
Emerge a single Noon
In the Vermilion that it wore
Affect us, and return —
Two Seasons, it is said, exist —
The Summer of the Just,
And this of Ours, diversified
With Prospect, and with Frost —
May not our Second with its First
So infinite compare
That We but recollect the one
The other to prefer?
This poem really is a great one i have only read a couple and i like this one alot.