 Summer Magic by Leslie Pinkney Hill Red for LibriVox.org by Alan Clare So many cares to vex the day, so many fears to haunt the night. My heart was all but weaned away from every lure of old delight. Then summer came, announced by June, with beauty, miracle, and mirth. She hung aloft the rounding moon. She poured her sunshine on the earth. She drove the sap and broke the bud. She set the crimson rose afire. She stirred again my sullen blood, and waked in me a new desire. Before my cottage door she spread the softest carpet-nature-weaves, and deftly arched above my head a canopy of shady leaves. Her nights were dreams of jeweled skies, her days were bowers rife with song, and many a scheme did she devise to heal the hurt and soothe the wrong. Or on the hill or in the dell, or where the brook went leaping by, or where the fields would surge and swell with golden wheat or bearded rye, I felt her heart against my own. I breathed the sweetness of her breath till all the carc of time had flown, and I was lord of life and death. This recording is in the public domain. The summer came, announced by June. With beauty, miracle, and mirth. She hung aloft the rounding moon. She poured her sunshine on the earth. She drove the sap and broke the bud. She set the crimson rose afire. She stirred again my sullen blood, and waked in me a new desire. Before my cottage door she spread the softest carpet-nature-weaves, and deftly arched above my head a canopy of shady leaves. Her nights were dreams of jeweled skies, her days were bowers rife with song, and many a scheme she did devise to heal the hurt and soothe the wrong. For on the hill or in the dell, or where the brook went leaping by, or where the fields would surge and swell with golden wheat or bearded rye, I felt her heart against my own. I breathed the sweetness of her breath till all the carc of time had flown, and I was lord of life and death. This recording is in the public domain. She drove the sap and broke the bud. She set the crimson rose afire. She stirred again my sullen blood, and waked in me a new desire. Before my cottage door she spread the softest carpet-nature-weaves, and deftly arched above my head a canopy of shady leaves. Her nights were dreams of jeweled skies, her days were bowers rife with song, and many a scheme did she devise to heal the hurt and soothe the wrong. For on the hill or in the dell, or where the brook went leaping by, or where the fields would surge and swell with golden wheat or bearded rye, I felt her heart against my own. I breathed the sweetness of her breath till all the carc of time had flown, and I was lord of life and death. This recording is in the public domain. Summer Magic by Leslie Pinkney Hill, read for LibriVox.org by Ezoa. So many cares to vex the day, so many fears to haunt the night, my heart was all but weaned away from every yore of all delight. Then summer came, announced by June, with beauty, miracle, and mirth. She hung aloft the rounding moon. She poured her sunshine on the earth. She drove the sap and broke the bud. She set the crimson rose afire. She stirred again my silent blood, and weaked in me a new desire. Before my cottage door she spread, the softest carpet nature-weaves, and deathly arch above my head, a canopy of shady leaves. Her nights were dreams of jewel skies, her days were bows rife with song, and many a-skimmed it she devised to heal the hurt and soothe the wrong. For on the hill or in the dell, or where the brook went leaping by, or where the fields would surge and swell with golden wheat or bearded rye, I felt her heart against my own. The sweetness of her breath till all the carc of time had flown, and I was lord of life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Summer came, announced by June, with beauty, miracle, and mirth. She hung aloft the rounding moon. She poured her sunshine on the earth. She drove the sap and broke the bud. She set the crimson rose afire. She stirred again my silent blood, and weaked in me a new desire. Before my cottage door she spread, the softest carpet nature-weaves, and deftly arched above my head a canopy of shady leaves. Her nights were dreams of jeweled skies, her days were bows rife with song, and many a-skimmed it she devised to heal the hurt and soothe the wrong. For on the hill or in the dell, or where the brook went leaping by, or where the fields would surge and swell with golden wheat or bearded rye, I felt her heart against my own. I breathed the sweetness over breath till all the carc of time had flown, and I was lord of life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Summer Magic by Leslie Pinkney Hill. Read for LibriVox.org by Jessica A. C. Snyder. So many cares to vex the day, so many fears to haunt the night. My heart was all but weaned away from every lure of old delight. Then summer came, announced by June, with beauty, miracle, and mirth. She hung aloft the rounding moon. She poured her sunshine on the earth. She drove the sap and broke the bud. She set the crimson rose afire. She stirred again my sullen blood and waked in me a new desire. Before my cottage door she spread the softest carpet nature weaves, and deftly arched above my head a canopy of shady leaves. Her nights were dreams of jeweled skies, her days were bowers rife with song, and many a scheme did she devise to heal the hurt and sooth the wrong. For on the hill or in the dell, or where the brook went leaping by, or where the fields would surge and swell with golden wheat or bearded rye, I felt her heart against my own. I breathed the sweetness of her breath till all the carc of time had flown, and I was lord of life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Summer Magic by Leslie Pinkfield. Read for LibraVox.org by Gemma Bloth. So many guests of ex-the-day, so many fears to haunt the night. My heart was all but weaned away from every lure of old delight. Then summer came, announced by June. With beauty, miracle, and mirth she hung aloft the rounded moon. She poured her sunshine on the earth. She drove the sap and broke the bud. She set the crimson rose afire. She stirred against my sullen blood, and waked in me a new desire. Before my cottage door she spread. The softest carpet nature weaves, and deftly arched above my head a canopy of shady leaves. The knots were dreams of jewel skies. The days were bowels rife with song, and many a scheme did she devise to heal the hut and soothe the wrong. For on the hill or in the dale, or where the brook went leaping by, or where the fields would surge and swell with golden weed or pitted rye. I felt your heart against my own. I breathed the sweetness of a breath till all the caulk of time had flown and I was lord of life and death. And a poem. This recording is in the public domain. Summer Magic by Leslie Picney Hill. Read for Librevox.org by J. C. Guan. Shenyang, July 2007. So many cares to vex the day. So many fears to hound the night. My heart was all but weaned away from every lure of all delight. Then summer came, announced by June, with beauty, miracle, and mirth. She hung aloft the rounding moon. She poured her sunshine on the earth. She drove the sap and broke the bud. She set the crimson rose afire. She stirred again my sullen blood and waked in me a new desire. Before my cottage door she spread, the softest carpet nature weaves. And deathly arched above my head a canopy of shady leaves. Her nights were dreams of jeweled skies. Her days were bowers rife with song. And many a scheme did she devise to heal the hurt and soothe the wrong. For on the hill or in the dell, or where the brook went leaping by, or where the fields with surgeons swell was golden wheat or bearded brigh. I felt her heart against my own. I breathed the sweetness of her breath till all the caulk of time had flown and I was lured of life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The night was a miracle in mirth. She hung aloft the rounding moon. She poured her sunshine on the earth. She drove the sap and broke the bud. She set the crimson rose afire. She stirred again my sullen blood and waked in me a new desire. Before my cottage door she spread, the softest carpet nature weaves. And deathly arched above my head a canopy of shady leaves. Her nights were dreams of jeweled skies. Her days were bowers rife with song. And many a scheme did she devise to heal the hurt and soothe the wrong. For on the hill or in the dell, or where the brook went leaping by, or where the fields with surgeons swell was golden wheat or bearded brigh. I felt her heart against my own. I breathed the sweetness of her breath till all the cock of time had flown. And I was lured of life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Summer Magic by Leslie Pinkney Hill. Read for LibraVox.org by Leanne Howlett. So many cares to bex the day, so many fears to haunt the night. My heart was all but weaned away from every lure of old delight. Then summer came, announced by June, with beauty, miracle and mirth. She hung aloft the rounding moon. She poured her sunshine on the earth. She drove the sap and broke the bud. She set the crimson rose afire. She stirred again my sullen blood and waked in me a new desire. Before my cottage door she spread the softest carpet nature weaves, and deftly arched above my head a canopy of shady leaves. Her nights were dreams of jeweled skies, her days were bowers rife with song, and many a scheme did she devise to heal the hurt and soothe the wrong. For on the hill or in the dell, where the brook went leaping by, or where the fields would surge and swell with golden wheat or bearded rye, I felt her heart against my own. I breathed the sweetness of her breath till all the carc of time had flown, and I was lord of life and death. So many cares to vex the day, so many fears to haunt the night. My heart was all but weaned away from every lure of old delight. Then summer came, announced by dune, with beauty, miracle and mirth. She hung aloft the rounding moon. She poured her sunshine on the earth. She drove the sap and broke the bug. She set the crimson rose afire. She stirred again my sullen blood, and waked in me a new desire. Before my cottage door she spread the softest carpet nature weaves, and deftly arched above my head a canopy of shady leaves. Her nights were dreams of dual skies, her days were bowers writhe with song, and many a scheme did she devise to heal the hurt and soothe the wrong. For on the hill or in the dell, or where the brook went leaping by, or where the fields would surge and swell with golden wheat or bearded rye, I felt her heart against my own. I breathed the sweetness of her breath till all the carc of time had flown, and I was lord of life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. In the morning, the sun was shining bright, and my heart was all but weaned away from every lure of old delight. Then summer came, announced by June, with beauty, miracle, and mirth. She hung aloft the rounding moon. She poured her sunshine on the earth. She drove the sap and broke the bug. She poured again my sullen blood, and waked in me a new desire. Before my cottage door she spread, the softest carpet, nature weaves, and deftly arched above my head a canopy of shady leaves. Her nights were dreams of dual skies, her days were bowers writhe with song, and many a scheme did she devise to heal the hurt and soothe the wrong. For on the hill or in the dell, or where the brook went leaping by, or where the fields would surge and swell with golden wheat or bearded rye. I felt her heart against my own, I breathed the sweetness of her breath, till all the carc of time had flown, and I was lord of life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. So many cares to vex the day, so many fears to haunt the night. My heart was all but weaned away from every lure of old delight. Then summer came, announced by June, with beauty, miracle, and mirth. She hung aloft the rounding moon. She poured her sunshine on the earth. She drove the sap, and broke the bud. She set the crimson rows of fire. She stirred again my sullen blood, and waked in me a new desire. Before my cottage door she spread the softest carpet nature weaves, and deftly arched above my head a canopy of shady leaves. Her nights were dreams of dual skies. Her days were bowers rife with song. And many a scheme did she devise to heal the hurt, and soothe the wrong. For on the hill, or in the dell, or where the brook went leaping by, or where the fields would surge and swell, with golden wheat or bearded rye. I felt her heart against my own. I breathed the sweetness of her breath, till all the carc of time had flown. And I was lord of life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libervox.org. Summer Magic by Leslie Pinkney Hill. Read for Libervox.org by Tim Gregory of Seattle, Washington. So many cares to vex the day. So many fears to haunt the night. My heart was all but weaned away from every lure of old delight. Then summer came, announced by June, with beauty, miracle, and mirth. She hung aloft the rounding moon. She poured her sunshine on the earth. She drove the sap and broke the bud. She set the crimson rose afire. She stirred again my sill and blood, and waked in me a new desire. Before my cottage door she spread the softest carpet-nature-weaves, deftly arched above my head a canopy of shady leaves. Her nights were dreams of jeweled skies. Her days were bowers rife with song. And many a scheme did she devise to heal the hurt and soothe the wrong. For on the hill or in the dell or where the brook went leaping by, or where the fields would surge and swell with golden wheat or bearded rye, I felt her heart against my own. I breathed the sweetness of her breath till all the carc of time had flown, and I was Lord of life and death. End of poem.