No mood of celebration rises yet.
No clash of ending spring with starting summer.
Not yet. These only later will arise,
As if it takes a moment to awake’
To the glories of the points of passing time.
Just so, we hold “The Great and Glorious Fourth”
As if in tardy answer to the call
To celebrate this turning of the year.
Late, and misconstrued, but not forgotten.
Just so, the four great seasons of the sun
Each raise a certain passion in us all
That calls for us to gather and express
What made its great impression on the soul.
Now, Mother Moon comes fully into sway
Just shining, as reflected summer’s light
Takes hold the great Earth’s star-ward-facing half
As sleep enshrouds the shortest of her nights
And dreams entwine the longest of her days.