The year’s best blueberry scone Gorgeous needlework being shown Iron skillets being thrown We recall what has always made the Vineyard unique.

Near the shore’s arm of dune that holds the pond, A kayak glides, Someone seeking peace And looking up to find it in the sky.

August rushes by like desert rainfall, A flood of frenzied upheaval, Expected, But still catching me unprepared. Like a matchflame Bursting on the scene.

And now the crickets plug in their appliances in unison, and then the fireflies flash dots and dashes in the grass, like punctuation.

High in the evening elm the robin tries his notes . . . To sleep, to sleep, while star by star the sky opens, and far and high eternity rides by.

Remember you are all people and all people are you. Remember you are this universe and this universe is you. Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.

Ballerinas go to Swan Neck Point; Bankers to Dividend Beach. All men go to the various Heads. But who goes to Quansoo?

That beautiful season the Summer! Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; And the landscape Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.

Rich fresh wine of June, We stagger into you smeared with pollen, Overcome as the turtle Laying her eggs in roadside sand.

First you figure out what each one means by itself, the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop Full of moonlight. Then you begin, slowly, to read the whole story.

How beautiful is youth! how bright it gleams With its illusions, aspirations, dreams! Book of Beginnings, Story without End, Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend!

Straight I walked to the trellis vine. Wisteria touched a lifted nostril: Feelings of beauty diffused, to entwine My spirit with June’s own aura.

Out of the blood of a conflict fraternal, Out of the dust and the dimness of death, Burst into blossoms of glory eternal Flowers that sweeten the world with their breath.

Fast fading violets cover’d up in leaves; And mid-May’s eldest child The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

The wind is tossing the lilacs, The new leaves laugh in the sun, And the petals fall on the orchard wall, But for me the spring is done.

"The bud stands for all things, even for those things that don’t flower, for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing."

While from the purpling east departs The star that led the dawn, Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts, For May is on the lawn.

Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.

There is not time enough on earth For all I’d like to do; But, having lived and having toiled, I’d like the world to find Some little touch of beauty That my soul had left behind.

I was born to water On an island in the sea. The surf outside the window Each night put me to sleep. Waves against the shore Rumbled cobbles On the stormy coast.