Riley

The sun, in summer-time,
In lazy belts came slipping down the road
  To woo me on, with many a glimmering rhyme 
  Rained from the golden rim of some fair clime,
    That, hovering behind the clouds, inspired
  My failing heart with fancies so sublime
  I half forgot my path of dust and grime,
      Though I was growing tired.

James Whitcomb Riley