A True Summer Night

These old hot nights. how the cicadas carryon.
How they do shake
A thousand wedding-bells and make
The sweet demented sound
Run over the warm western ground,
Where there is summer, where there is night.
Where these frail ministers of joy are found.
How gentle and wild the throb of their delight.
How ethereal the hubbub and scurry' of music.
While ever the answer and echo return
Down-risen, up-fallen. sCintil and tumble of tone.
And casting of mandolins all around,
As midnight and summer succumb
To a the haunted persuasion of joy.

There can be no ravage nor cold to come.