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James Weldon Johnson, ed. (1871–1938). The Book of American Negro Poetry. 1922.

Summer Magic

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.

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 cark of time had flown,

And I was lord of life and death.