Approach of Summer

How shall I meet thee, Summer, wont to fill 
My heart with gladness, when thy pleasant tide 
First came, and on the Coomb's romantic side 
Was heard the distant cuckoo's hollow bill! 
Fresh flowers shall fringe the margin of the stream, 
As with the songs of joyance and of hope 
The hedge-rows shall ring loud, and on the slope
The poplars sparkle in the passing beam; 
The shrubs and laurels that I loved to tend, 
Thinking their May-tide fragrance would delight, 
With many a peaceful charm, thee, my poor friend, 
Shall put forth their green shoots, and cheer the sight! 
But I shall mark their hues with sadder eyes, 
And weep the more for one who in the cold earth lies!