Canon Rawnsley's Sonnet: August at the Lakes

Without the Cuckoo, April comes again,
Fresh gleam the vales, ghylls whiten far away,
Where Roses danced now blooms the bramble spray,
And Rowan berries take a russet stain;
Lanes long disused re-echo with the wain,
While, as if second youth had made them play,
With dexterous hand the dalesman toss the hay,
Or mound it close against the morrow's rain;
Now for belated lovers flutter white
Wild Raspberry leaves and pale Valerian
In dusky roads, where cool night breezes stir,
When hedgehogs cry and soft-winged fern-owls chirr;
Now lakes at morn are ruffled gold, and wan,
And blue hills move all day at most uncertain height.