Claude Mckay on Summers in New Hampshire

It's been a long time since I last thought of the lost poetry blog. I was surprised to discover I had posted this summer, although only just. It's funny to also note that the blog carries on without me, racking up hits from old posts. Does it need its initiator at all?

I like this summer poem, even though the season described is so far removed from the heavy, sluggish and humid summer around these parts that it makes me want to move to New Hampshire.

Summer Morn in New Hampshire by Claude McKay

All yesterday it poured, and all night long
I could not sleep; the rain unceasing beat
Upon the shingled roof like a weird song,
Upon the grass like running children's feet.
And down the mountains by the dark cloud kissed,
Like a strange shape in filmy veiling dressed,
Slid slowly, silently, the wraith-like mist,
And nestled soft against the earth's wet breast.

But lo, there was a miracle at dawn!
The still air stirred at touch of the faint breeze,
The sun a sheet of gold bequeathed the lawn,
The songsters twittered in the rustling trees.
And all things were transfigured in the day,
But me whom radiant beauty could not move;
For you, more wonderful, were far away,
And I was blind with hunger for your love.