Summer days of busy leisure,

Long summer days of dear-bought pleasure,

You have done your teaching well;

Had the scholar means to tell

How grew the vine of bitter-sweet,

What made the path for truant feet,

Winter nights would quickly pass,

Gazing on the magic glass

O'er which the new-world shadows pass;

But, in fault of wizard spell,

Moderns their tale can only tell

In dull words, with a poor reed

Breaking at each time of need.

But those to whom a hint suffices

Mottoes find for all devices,

See the knights behind their shields,

Through dried grasses, blooming fields.

Some dried grass-tufts from the wide flowery plain,

A muscle shell from the lone fairy shore,

Some antlers from tall woods which never more

To the wild deer a safe retreat can yield,

An eagle's feather which adorned a Brave,

Well-nigh the last of his despairing band,

For such slight gifts wilt thou extend thy hand

When weary hours a brief refreshment crave?

I give you what I can, not what I would,

If my small drinking-cup would hold a flood,

As Scandinavia sung those must contain

With which the giants gods may entertain;

In our dwarf day we drain few drops, and soon must thirst again.