Explore "Heat in September" by Francis Sherman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
And why shouldst thou come back to us, July, / Who vanished while we prayed thee not to pass?
Where are thy sunflowers? Where thine uncut grass?
Thy still, blue waters and thy cloudless sky?
Surely, to-day thy very self is nigh; / Only the wind that bloweth in, alas, / Telleth of fire where many a green tree was; / And the crimson sun at noonday standeth high.
Must I, like him who, seeing once again / The long-awaited face of his lost love, / Hath little strength to thank the gods above / (Remembering most the ancient passion's pain), / Yet striveth to recall the joys thereof, -- / Must I, like him, beseech thee to remain?