Like birds the summer;
Ah! bring them back to me,
Swiftly, dear comer!
Seraphim,
Her to hymn,
Might leave their portals;
And at my feet learn
The harping of mortals!

II.

Where wings to rustle use,
But this poor tarrier -
Searching my spirit's eaves -
Find I for carrier.
Ah! bring them back to me
Swiftly, sweet comer!
Swift, swift, and bring with you
Song's Indian summer!
Seraphim,
Her to hymn,
Might leave their portals;
And at my feet learn
The harping of mortals!

III.

Whereso your angel is,
My angel goeth;
I am left guardianless,