In Its Color, Shade And Shine, 'T Was A Summer Warm As Wine, With An Effervescent Flavoring Of Flowered Bough And Vine, And A Fragrance And A Taste Of Ripe Roses Gone To Waste, And A Dreamy Sense Of Sun- And Moon- And Star-Light Interlaced. 'Twas A Summer Such As Broods O'Er Enchanted Solitudes, Where The Hand Of Fancy Leads Us Through Voluptuary Moods, And With Lavish Love Out-Pours All The Wealth Of Out-Of-Doors, And Woos Our Feet O'Er Velvet Paths And Honeysuckle Floors. 'Twas A Summertime Long Dead, - And Its Roses, White And Red, And Its Reeds And Water-Lilies Down Along The River-Bed, - O They All Are Ghostly Things - For The Ripple Never Sings, And The Rocking Lily Never Even Rustles As It Rings!