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Summer Schemes
by
Thomas Hardy
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When friendly summer calls again Calls again Her little fifers to these hills We'll go - we two - to that arched fane Of leafage where they prime their bills Before they start to flood the plain With quavers,, minims, shakes, and trills '- We'll go', I sing; but who shall say What may not chance before that day! And we shall see the waters spring Waters spring From chinks the scrubby copses crown; And we shall trace their oncreeping To where the cascade tumblеs down And sends the bobbing growths aswing And ferns not quitе but almost drown '- We shall', I say; but who may sing Of what another moon will bring!
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