Old summer is over, I knew by the woodland,
	The songs of the birds are so hushed and so still,
The brook through the meadow, how gently it’s flowing,
	The leaves turn to crimson down under the hill.
Old summer is dying, and I am sighing,
	For the bright golden days that are slipping away,
I must turn to the city with its noise and its turmoil,
	The next golden summer is far, far away,
How the woodland is hushed, no voice breaks its stillness,
	Each happy and thoughtless young heart has turned home,
On the shore where the white pebbles wash in land.
	Of clear Crystal Lake, I am standing alone,
I too must turn homeward, the short day is dying,
	The great golden sun is quite low in the west.
And memories of friendship around me are clinging,
	For old friends we cherish and old friends are best.
I am hating to part from my dear golden summer.
	Where music and song and sunshine made rhyme.
Where young feet were dancing, and old hearts were lightest,
	Where games and food fellowship marked passing of time,
Now it’s all over and duty is calling,
	Brave hearts and true will mingle once more,
Each to his work the fulfillment of duty,
	Shirk not because this dear summer is o’er.
So back to the work time, for summer makes life sweeter,
	We will mingle again to live at our best,
But the summer that’s passing, will nevermore greet us,
	The dear golden summer that’s gone to its rest.

Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

Copyright Roy Richard