New England Poetry: The Last Day of Summer


Come hither, come hither, my May-day queen,
The last day of summer is here;
But weep not,–nor sigh, for merry old Time
Will bring us another year.
Yet ’tis hard to part with the joy of one’s heart,
Though there’s something that heart to cheer.

Do we pray me that cheer, my May-day queen?
I grant thee the grateful boon.
‘Tis the autumn breeze, and the gold meed,
And the joys of the harvest moon;
And I grant thee yet more, when the harvest ‘s o’er,
In the maze of the gay saloon.

Be merry, be blithe then, my May-day queen,
For the seasons wag on apace!
Like the seasons of life, poor airy things,
That led so changeful a race.
Yet these flying hours but hasten Spring’s flowers
Again thy fair tresses to grace.

The last day of Summer, my May-day queen
May count thee another year:–
May strengthen thy mind–may gladden thy soul,
May bring thee a painful tear.
Yet should e’er a pang start in thy fair moulded heart,
Reflect thee–that heaven can cheer.

From the Boston Statesman of 31 Aug 1833
Reprinted in the New-Hampshire Gazette, Tuesday, Oct 1, 1833, Portsmouth NH, page 4


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2 Responses to New England Poetry: The Last Day of Summer

  1. Amy says:

    Summer is my favorite season, and I am always a bit blue on the first day of fall.

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