Poetry Sunday: Summer Sun by Robert Louis Stevenson

The daytime heat index around here has hovered close to 110 degrees F all last week. The summer sun has been relentless, unforgiving.

The summer sun envisioned by Robert Louis Stevenson seems a bit gentler sort. He sees the garden and the gardener as welcoming its "warm and glittering look." But personally, my garden and I would welcome a bit of respite from "his golden face." So would my hard-working air conditioner.

Summer Sun

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy's inmost nook.

Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.

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