Who knows who wrote that song of summer, That blackbirds sing at dusk, This is a song of colour, Where sands sing in crimson, red and rust, Then climb into bed and turn to dust.

So all the colours run See what they have become A wonderful sunset

Every sleepy light Must say goodbye To the day before it dies In a sea of honey A sky of honey Keep us close to your heart So if the skies turn dark We may liv…

Watching the painter painting And all the time, the light is changing And he keeps painting That bit there, it was an accident But he's so pleased It's the bes…

As all the perfumes of the vanished day Rise from the earth still moistened with the dew So from my chastened soul beneath thy ray Old love is born anew.

Sweet April-time - O cruel April-time! Year after year returning, with a brow Of promise, and red lips with longing paled, And backward-hidden hands that clutc…

Yes. I remember Adlestrop - The name, because one afternoon Of heat the express-train drew up there Unwontedly. It was late June.