Thomas Hardy — Summer Schemes

When friendly summer calls again,        &nbsp Calls again Her little fifers to these hills, We’ll go - we two - to that arched fane Of leafage where they prime their bills Before they start to flood the plain With quavers, minims, shakes, and trills.        &nbsp “ - We’ll go,” I sing; but who shall say        &nbsp What may not chance before that day! And we shall see the waters spring,        &nbsp Waters spring From chinks the scrubby copses crown; And we shall trace their oncreeping To where the cascade tumbles down And sends the bobbing growths aswing, And ferns not quite but almost drown.        &nbsp “ - We shall,” I say; but who may sing        &nbsp Of what another moon will bring!