Around the year with Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

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The hopes half shy and the sighs all tender,
   The dreams and fears of an earlier day,
Under the noontide's royal splendor
   Droop like roses and wither away.
From the hills of doubt no winds are blowing,
   From the isle of pain no breeze is sent.
Only the sun in a white heat glowing
   Over an ocean of great content.
                                                         Midsummer.