In void cloudless afternoons

With dust on kerbs, trees weary with the sun

I thought of things, things I might do

I’ve gathered up the hazy Junes

Vague Augusts, sighs of Julys, every one

All things dreamed of, false and true

I’ve buried them (while music of old tunes

Mourned languidly, their futile work done)

And turned bracing to the future that is you

Future that lives in eyes – fantastic blue

Beyond vain summer things I then half knew. 

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