The promises have gone, Gone, gone, and they were here just now There is the sky where they laid their fish. Soon it will be evening.

Cape Cod kids ain’t got no sleds They slide down the hills on codfish heads Cape Cod girls ain’t got no frills They tie their hair with codfish gills.

Although it is a cold evening, Down by one of the fishhouses An old man sits netting, His net, In the gloaming almost invisible.

A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip — There is a glorious fellowship! Father and son and the open sky And the white clouds lazily drifting by.

By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer’s best of weather And autumn’s best of cheer.

The wind blows Through the doors of my heart. It scatters my sheet music That climbs like waves from the piano, free of the keys.

Warm summer sun, shine kindly here; Warm southern wind, blow softly here; Green sod above, lie light, lie light — Good night, dear heart, good night, good night.

How sociable the garden was. We ate and talked in given light. The children put their toys to grass All the warm wakeful August night.

Under Orion on the green-waved lawn I float, high — New moon, old craft Tide strong as ever to the sheer horizon.

The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep to-night.

He stood beside a cottage lone And listened to a lute, One summer’s eve, when the breeze was gone, And the nightingale was mute.

Sleepy and suburban at dusk, I learn again the yard’s geometry, edging around the garden and the weedy knots of flowers.

Life has loveliness to sell, All beautiful and splendid things, Blue waves whitened on a cliff,  Soaring fire that sways and sings, And children’s faces looking up, Holding wonder like a cup.

I am waiting for my case to come up And I am waiting For a rebirth of wonder And I am waiting for someone To really discover America.

Peacefully The quiet stars came out, one after one; The holy twilight fell upon the sea, The summer day was done.

Nothing ever stops; it divides and multiplies, and I guess sometimes it gets ground down superfine, but it doesn’t just blow away.

O Day after day we can’t help growing older. Year after year spring can’t help seeming younger. Come let’s enjoy our winecup today, Nor pity the flowers fallen.

Without courage we cannot practice any other virtue with consistency. We can’t be kind, true, merciful, generous, or honest.

Dance! Whirl! Whirl! Till the quick day is done. Rest at pale evening . . . A tall, slim tree . . . Night coming tenderly Black like me.

End of the spring and here she comes back Hi hi hi hi there Them summer days, those summer days That’s when I had most of my fun, back there.