Poem of the Week – To Summer by William Blake

Monday was the annual summer solstice, the longest day of the year.

Celebrations are held for this celestial event across the world and its many cultures, from Sweden’s Midsummer festivities to rituals at Stone Henge. This year, you could be forgiven for missing the solstice or finding little to celebrate in England, as last week’s warm weather has faded into the rain, and grey clouds and coronavirus restrictions have been extended.

This week’s poem by William Blake will hopefully provide that warm summer feeling that is otherwise currently lacking in Britain. Written in 1783, the poem personifies summer as a god-like figure who visits England once a year and brings pleasure and celebration to the landscape and its people.

We hope you enjoy this week’s poem as much as we did.

To Summer by William Blake 

O Thou who passest thro’ our vallies in

Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat

That flames from their large nostrils! thou, O Summer,

Oft pitched’st here thy golden tent, and oft

Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld

With joy, thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.

Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard

Thy voice, when noon upon his fervid car

Rode o’er the deep of heaven; beside our springs

Sit down, and in our mossy vallies, on

Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy

Silk draperies off, and rush into the stream:

Our vallies love the Summer in his pride.

Our bards are fam’d who strike the silver wire:

Our youth are bolder than the southern swains:

Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance:

We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy,

Nor echoes sweet, nor waters clear as heaven,

Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat.