Doomsday by Warwick Deeping

In September "Doomsday" washed its face in the dew and knew a second greenness. With the last fortnight of August as wet as you please, the resting soil,--refreshed and eager,--seemed to rush into a second growth. Furze had never seen anything quite like it. The Long Meadow that a month ago had been a stretch of cracked brownness had lushed up into a young hay crop. The country shook off the dust and the heat, and was glad. Old garden flowers took heart of grace and set out to bloom a second time. The blackberries, little hard red points, swelled into a lustrous blackness. September dews were heavy, and the sunlight like a yellow wine, and in the dawns Furze saw a world of gold and of silver, with Rushy mist-hung, and the oaks of Gore Wood catching the early sunlight.

-"A second spring,--a second summer," he thought, but the man in him watched and considered.