Summer Is Coming by Dora Goodale Seasons poem

"Summer is coming!" the soft breezes whisper;
"Summer is coming!" the glad birdies sing.
Summer is coming—I hear her quick footsteps;
Take your last look at the beautiful Spring.
Lightly she steps from her throne in the woodlands:
"Summer is coming, and I cannot stay;
Two of my children have crept from my bosom:
April has left me but lingering May.

"What tho' bright Summer is crownèd with roses.
Deep in the forest Arbutus doth hide;
I am the herald of all the rejoicing;
Why must June always disown me?" she cried.

Down in the meadow she stoops to the daisies,
Plucks the first bloom from the apple-tree's bough:
"Autumn will rob me of all the sweet apples;
I will take one from her store of them now."

Summer is coming! I hear the glad echo;
Clearly it rings o'er the mountain and plain.
Sorrowful Spring leaves the beautiful woodlands,
Bright, happy Summer begins her sweet reign.