Summer Sun Great is the sun, and wide he goes

Through empty heaven with repose;

And in the blue and glowing days

More thick than rain he showers his rays.

5Though closer still the blinds we pull

To keep the shady parlour cool,

Yet he will find a chink or two

To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad

10He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;

And through the broken edge of tiles

Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around

He bares to all the garden ground,

15And sheds a warm and glittering look

Among the ivy's inmost nook.

Above the hills, along the blue,

Round the bright air with footing true,

To please the child, to paint the rose,

20The gardener of the World, he goes.

In the public domain.

'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight

'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,

All soft and still and fair;

The solemn hour of midnight

Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,

5But most where trees are sending

Their breezy boughs on high,

Or stooping low are lending

A shelter from the sky.

And there in those wild bowers

10A lovely form is laid;

Green grass and dew-steeped flowers

Wave gently round her head.

"'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight" by Emily Bronte, from The Complete Poems of Emily Bronte.