Song of Summer

High above our heads waved many a poplar, many an elm tree
While close at hand the sacred water from the nymphs’ own cave
Welled forth with murmurs musical.

On shadowy boughs the crickets kept their chattering toil,
Far off the little owl cried in the thick thorn brake,
The larks and finches were singing,
the ring-dove moaned,
The yellow bees were flitting
about the springs.

All breathed the scent of the
opulent summer…

                             (after Theocritus)