Summer In The South

The Oriole sings in the greening grove
As if he were half-way waiting,
The rosebuds peep from their hoods of green,
Timid, and hesitating.
The rain comes down in a torrent sweep
And the nights smell warm and pinety,
The garden thrives, but the tender shoots
Are yellow-green and tiny.
Then a flash of sun on a waiting hill,
Streams laugh that erst were quiet,
The sky smiles down with a dazzling blue
And the woods run mad with riot.

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Comments (21)

What a nice poem from a nice poet.lI. I like this type of poet.
The sights and sounds of nature are vivid with color and movement.
The woods run mad with riot! theres something about that line
One of my favorite poems as a child. Truly gifted, but died too young
A plu-perfect nature poem which reads like it sprung naturally from Dunbar's pure self.
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