Late Summer

Late summer, and the silvery undersidesOf the leaves shimmer in the hazy air,And the cicadas’ song wells up in tidesThat wash over my soul, and everywhereThe world seems as if in an opium dream,Or born along on some enchanted stream. Soon will these leaves feel autumn’s first cold bite,And lie in brittle heaps upon the ground,But they, and I, care not—the coming nightWill find us dreaming still, the drowsy soundOf crickets will the dream-song’s vigil keep,And lull us like innocent babes to sleep. It was a day like this, long, long ago,A boy lay dreaming on a grassy hill,And felt all wisdom he could ever know,Was in that moment—and that boy is stillDreaming, still to that sacred song awake,Though worlds of men and time itself forsake. Daniel Leach is a poet living in Houston, Texas. He has spent much of his life fighting for the ideals of classical culture and poetry. His latest volumes of poetry are Voices on the Wind and Places the Soul Goes. Stay tuned for the summer issue of our New Lyre Magazine, where the latest timeless arts and letters of our age will be published (only days away). Paid subscribers can access the previous issues below. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit ageofmuses.substack.com/subscribe