Dora Sigerson Shorter

“ WHEN SUMMER COMES
When summer comes, then you are near to me,
⁠I feel your phantom presence on my heart,
In every wind the dead year speaks again,
⁠And every scene springs up to take its part.
'Twas such a day, as sweet a wind arose.
⁠To kiss with perfumed Ups your brown blown hair;
With brow perplexed and that odd smile you had,
⁠I wondered what you thought of, standing there. ”