James May

Rainy Summer Alice Meynell There’s much afoot in heaven and earth this year;    The winds hunt up the sun, hunt up the moon, Trouble the dubious dawn, hasten the drear    Height of a threatening noon.

No breath of boughs, no breath of leaves, of fronds,    May linger or grow warm; the trees are loud; The forest, rooted, tosses in her bonds,    And strains against the cloud.

No scents may pause within the garden-fold;    The rifled flowers are cold as ocean-shells; Bees, humming in the storm, carry their cold    Wild honey to cold cells.