Martin Robertson

Now and Then

Two Summer Songs


Summer recurs.

Green fields of childhood greet us

washed with yellow and white,

daisy and buttercup.

Love the revolving years

knowing they will defeat us

(one revolution’s low

roll on without us up).

Knowing this will be so

love more this year’s delight.


Cows lounge among buttercups and dew

while coolly counterpointed by the cuckoo

lark song strikes out of the sun-paled blue.

Pass from the green brilliance of the meadow

into graver green of the wood’s shadow

sky-chinked above, bluebell-pooled below.

This is my country I do not want to leave.

But brood on that is stupid, self-defeative.

Be content with its being and your love.