Flushing Summer

"Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare,

And left the flushed print in a poppy there:

Like a yawn of fire from the grass it came,

And the fanning wind puffed it to flapping flame.

With burnt mouth red like a lion's it drank

The blood of the sun as he slaughtered sank,

And dipped its cup in the colored shine

When the eastern conduits ran with wine".

- Francis Thompson

 

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