J U M 1 \ sM, ^^^ i^ MOMTH Of THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES '^^-^'^^ Through the Year with the Poets EDITED BY OSCAR FAY ADAMS. Now Ready. WINTER, DECEMBER. JANUARY. FEBRUARY. 3 Vols, in neat box, $2.25. SPRING. MARCH. APRIL. MAY. 3 Vols, in neat box, $2.25. In Preparation. SUM MER. JUNE. JULY. AUGUST. 3 Vols, in neat box, $2,25. AUTUMN. SEPTEMBER. OCTOBER. NOVEMBER. 3 Vols, in neat box, $2.25. Separate Volumes, 75 cents each. D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, BOSTON. JUNE EDITED BY OSCAR FAY ADAMS June is full of invitations sweet, Forth from the chimney's yawn and thrice-read tomes To leisurely delights and sauntering thoughts That brook no ceiling narrower than the blue. James Russell Lowell. Under the Willows. THE LIBRAKT UNIVERSITY OF ' '.TJFORNU LOS AJVJtKLES BOSTON D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS Copyright, i8S6, by D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY. BOSTON : COMPOSITION AND ELECTROTYPING BY C. F. MATTOON AND COMPANY. PN (ellO PREFACE. The affection for the month of June, now so com- mon in England and America, is a sentiment of very modern growth, so far as poetry is concerned. With the English poets May, which corresponds very nearly to the June of the northern part of the United States, has always taken precedence ; and, until Leigh Hunt called attention to the neglect of June as a subject for verse, the references to the month in English poetry were fragmentary and few. In America the poets of the colonial period were too busy with moral and the- ological themes to devote many of their stiffly-flowing measures to the praise of June or of any other month ; but within the last forty years the love for the first of the summer months, which existed, no doubt, before, has found amplest utterance in American verse, and the English echoes of this late-found voice of praise have also been many. With what degree of complete- ness this volume gives these utterances is left for the judgment of the reader to determine. Mr. Horatio Nelson Powers, whose name has be- fore appeared in this series, is here represented by a 204155^ IV PREFACE. very noteworthy original poem entitled " The Tulip Tree in Blossom," and Mr. Richard Kendall Munkittrick, one of the versatile editors of Puck, has kindly con- tributed "A June Lily." A "June Love Song," by Miss Charlotte Fiske Bates, readers will now hear for the first time; and the tuneful "June Harmony," by Mr. Clinton Scollard, has also been written for the volume. The other original contributions are "June," by Mr. Ernest Warburton Shurtleff; "A June Even- ing," by Miss Florence Scollard Brown ; " Moonrise in June," by Mr. Charles Miner Thompson ; " Ballade of a Windy Day," by Mr. Alanson Bigelow Houghton; " The Dance of Death," by Mrs. Jane Goodwin Austin ; and " O June, Sweet June," by Mr. George Parsons Lathrop, — six poems which cannot fail to be duly appreciated. As before, the thanks of the publishers are due to Messrs. Houghton, MifBin & Co. ; Cupples, Up- ham & Co. ; Roberts Brothers ; Ticknor & Co. ; Lee & Shepard ; Chas. Scribner's Sons ; G. P. Putnam's Sons ; and the Century Company, for their uniform courtesy in relation to the use of poems controlled by copyright. Cambridge, Mass., May 12, 1886. CONTENTS. Pack June yames Russell Lowell , i Summer Frank D. Sherman . . z The Birds in Early June, Oliver Wendell Holmes . 3 June Henry W. Longfellow . 3 Delay Edith Matilda Thomas . 4 Summer Comes James Thotnson ... 4 The Departure of the Cuckoo Matthew Arnold ... 5 Ope, Folded Rose . . . William Cox Bennett . . 6 Summer Alfred Norris .... 6 Joy Month David Atwood Wasson . 8 To June Leigh Hunt 9 Here Richard K. Munkittrick . ii *The Tulip Tree in Blos- som Horatio Nelson Powers . 12 Haytime Matthew Arnold ... 13 In June John White Chadwick . 14 What Garden but Glows, Walter Savage Landor . 14 The Grafter's Task is Ended Theophile Alarzials . . 15 June Edmund Spenser ... 15 On the Edge of the Marsh, Antoinette Alcott Bassctt, 16 * Written for this volume. VI COiVTF.XTS. Summer Signs of Rain To Blossoms June Summer Rain ..... Boating Clover On the Bridge The Earliest Breath of June June Days June Summer *A June Harmony . . . *JUNE Rose Song A Day in June A Song of Summer . . . Love in Summertime . . In the Summertime . . . The Bobolink June In June A Dream of the South Winds in June. . . . June Now IS THE High Tide of THE Year Morning Glories .... • Written for Richard H. Stoddar Edward ycnner . Robert Hcrrick . Mrs. Akcrs Allen Sydney Dobell . Augustus Mendon Lord Edgar Fawcett . . . Arthur Reed Ropes Mrs. Akers Allen . . Robert Burns Wilson . Mrs. Mary E. Blake . Edmund Spenser . . Clinton Scollard . . Ernest W. Shurtleff . Mrs. Emily Pfciffcr . Mrs. C. C. Liddell . . Mrs. Alice M. Rollins Thomas Lodge . . . yohn Dennis .... yames Russell Lowell William Cullen Bryant Nora Perry .... Paid Hamilton Hayne . Mrs. Caroline A. Mason, yajnes Russell Lowell Mrs. Louisa P. Hopkins , this volume. Pagc i6 17 19 20 21 22 24 26 26 27 29 30 31 32 33 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 41 43 43 44 CONTENTS. Vll ViLLANELLE Mrs. Emily Pfciffer . Summer ^0/171 Clare .... The Dying Sycamores . . Mrs. Anne C. Botta . June Longings George Parsons Lathrop The Dandelions .... Helen Gray Cone . . Bumble-Bee Henry Atigustin Beers June Mrs. Mary E. Hobbs . Song of the Gloaming . . John Vance Cheney . A Summer Moon .... Edward Dowden . . *A June Evening .... Florence S. Brown The Sweet June Night . Lewis Morris . . . A Summer Twilight . . C/ias. Tcnnyson-Ttimer ANightinJune. . . . William Morris . . In the Clover Mrs. Hattie Griswold . Vine Life Mrs. Akers Allen . . Wooing Eben Eugene Rexford Heaven, O Lord, I Cannot Lose Edna Deatt Proctor . A Summer Day by the Sea, Henry W. Longfellow Morning Glory .... Mrs. Chandler Moulton June Henry Gay Hewlett . Summer's Return .... Philip Boiirke Marston A Picture Mrs. Sarah Bolton . A Four O'clock .... Mrs. Harriet Spofford June Susan Louisa Higginson. Solstice Edith Matilda Thomas Summer Solstice .... Mrs. Emily Charles . The Longest Day. . . . William Wordsworth Swinging May Probytt .... * Written for this volume. Pack 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 56 57 58 60 vm C0ATl-:X7'S. Pacb In June James Berry Bcnscl . . 73 •A Uallade of a Windy Day Alanson B. Houghton June ... Edgar Fawcett . . . •The Dance of Death . . Mrs. Jane G. Austin . •June Love Song .... Charlotte Fiske Bates . Summer's Rain and Win- ter's Snow Richard Watson Gilder Full Summer Now . . . Oscar Wilde .... A June Day Philip Bourke Mars ton The Bumhle-Bee .... Charles Henry Noyes . A June Day John Todhnnter . . June Percy By s she Shelley . A Quest Mrs. Mary F. Butts . In June Eben Eugene Rexford A June Garden Carol . . Clinton Scollard . . Fireflies George Arnold . . . A Ballade of Summer. . J.S.H. Untsted . . Oh the Merry Lay of June Mrs. Augusta D. Webster, June's Husbandry . . . Thomas Tusser . . . June Minna Caroline Smith Evening Primroses . . . Helen Gray Cone . . A June Day Dora Read Goodale A June Night Emma Lazarus . . . The Long Days .... William Dean Howells When Clover Blooms . . James Benjatnin Kenyan, To a June Rose .... Henry Austin Dobson What is so Rare .... James Russell Lowell * Written for this volume. CONTENTS. IX In a June Garden . . . In June A Night in June June Whippoorwill *0 June, Sweet June . . She was Won in an Idle Day The Thrush's Nest . . . On the Wild Rose Tree. Amid the Limes .... The Drought in June . . A Sudden Shower . . . Across the Crimson Clo- ver Seas The Evening Comes . . . June Summer Night on the Hudson The Heart of June . . . A Summer Idyl .... Another Way of Love . June Days A Summer's Day .... Summer The Danube River . . . The First Cricket . . . The June Cricket . . . The Wood Thrush . . . * Written for Alfred Austin . . . Aljred Billings Street Alfred Austin . . . William Morris . . Obadiah C. Auringer . George Parsons Lathrop Mrs. Chandler Moulton fohn Clare . . Richard Watson Glide Mortimer Collins . y. Hazard Hartzell* James Berry Bens el Clinton Scollard Matthew Arnold . Edwin Arnold . . Joseph Rodman Drake Constance E Woolson William Sharp . . . Robert Browning . . Charles Lotin Hildreth Mrs. Abba Woolson . John Addington Symonds Hamilton Aide . . . Mrs. Rosaline Jones . Joel Benton .... Charles Lotin Hildreth this volume. X CONTENTS. Pacb To Carnations Robert Herrick . . . . uo June riiilip Bourkc Marston . 121 Raiskd are the Dripping Oars Mntt/u-w Arnold ... 121 *A June Lily Richard K. Mimkittrkk . 122 In June James Russell Lowell . 122 Come to me in Cherry Time George Perkins A/orris . 123 Long Listless Summer Hours Oscar Wilde 123 ♦Moonrise IN June . . . Charles Miner Thotnpon, 124 A Yellow Pansy .... Helen Gray Cone . . . 124 In Joyous June Percy Bysshe Shelley . . 125 Noontide Samuel Minium Peck . 126 Rose Secrets Frank D. Sherman . . 127 A HuMMiNG-BiRD .... Edgar Fawcett .... 127 To June Mrs. Mary E. Blake . . 128 Summer Twilights . . . Richard Watson Gilder . 129 Puck Samuel Mintum Peck . 130 To AN Oriole Edgar Fawcett .... 130 Ballad Mrs. Harriet Spofford . 131 June Drew unto its End, William Morris . . . 132 The Death of June . . . Lucy Larcom .... 132 * Written for this volume. INDEX OF AUTHORS. , Pagb Aide, Hamilton. Born in England, i8 — . The Danube River 117 Allen, Mrs. Elizabeth Ann [Chase] [Akers]. Born in Strong, Maine, October 9, 1832. June 20 The Earliest Breath of June .... .26 Vine Life • 58 Arnold, Edwin. Born in Rochester, England, June 10, 1832. June 108 Arnold, George. Born in New York City, June 24, 1S34. Died in Strawberry Farms, New Jersey, November 9, 1865. Fireflies 85 Arnold, Matthew. Born in Laleham, England, December 24, 1822. Haytime 13 Raised are the Dripping Oars . . . .121 The Departure of the Cuckoo .... 5 The Evening Comes 107 XI 1 INDEX 01' AUTHORS. Pagb AURINGER, ORADIAH CORNELIUS. Corn in Glens Falls, New York, June 4, 1849. Whippoorwill 100 Austin, Alfred. Bom in Hcailingly, near Leeds, England, May 30, 1S35. A Night in June 98 In a June Garden 97 Austin, Mrs. Jane [Goodwin] Bom in Boston, Massachusetts, February 25, 1S31. The Dance of Death 76 Bassett, Antoinette Alcott. Born in Berea, Ohio, May 23, 1857. On the Edge of the Marsh 16 Bates, Charlotte Fiske. Bom in New York City, November 30, 1838. June Love Song 77 Beers, Henry Augustin. Bom in Buffalo, New York, July 2, 1847. Bumble-Bee 50 Bennett, William Cox. Bom in Greenwich, England, 1820. Ope, Folded Rose . . . ... . . 6 INDEX OF AUTHORS. Xlll Pacb Bensei., James Berry. Born in New York City, August 2, 1856. Died in New York City, February 3, 1886. A Sudden Shower 105 In June 73 Benton, Joel. Born in Amenia, Dutchess County, New York, May 29, i8j2. The June Cricket 118 Blake, Mrs. Mary Elizabeth [McGrath]. Born in Dungarven, County Waterford, Ireland, September i, 1840. June ......... 29 To June 128 Bolton, Mrs. Sarah Knowles. Bom in Connecticut, 18 — . A Picture 66 Botta, Mrs. Anne Charlotte [Lynch]. Bom in Bennington, Vermont, 1820. The Dying Sycamores 47 Brown, Florence Scollard. Born in Jackson, Michigan, Oct. 30, 1859. A June Evening 54 Browning, Robert. Bom in Camberwell, Surrey, England, 1812. Another Way of Love XIV INDEX OF AUTHORS. Fagb Hryant, William Cullen. Boni in Cummiiiglon, Massachusetts, Novembers, 1794. Died ill New Vork City, June 12, 1878. June 38 Butts, Mrs. Mary Frances [Barber]. Bom in Hopkinton, Rhode Island, November 11, 1836. A Quest 82 Ch.\dwick, John White. Born in Marblehead, Massachusetts, October 19, 1840. In June 14 Charles, Mrs. Emily [Thornton]. Bom in Lafayette, Indiana, March 21, 1843. Summer Solstice 69 Cheney, John Vance. Bom in Groveland, Livingston Co., New York, December 29, 1848. Song of the Gloaming Clare, John. Bom in Helpstone, England, July 13, 1793. Died in Northampton, England, May 19, 1864. Summer ^d The Thrush's Nest icj Collins, Mortimer. Bom in Plymouth, England, June 29, 1827. Died in Richmond, England, July 28, 1876. Amid the Limes • . . 104 INDEX OF AUTHORS. XV Pagb Cone, Helen Gray. Bom in New York City, March 8, 1S59. Evening Primroses 89 The Dandelions 49 A Yellow Pansy 124 Dennis, John. Bom in Hackney, near London, England, January 8, 1825. In the Summertime 36 DoBELL, Sydney Thompson. Born in Peckham, Rye, England, April 5, 1824. Died near Nailsworth, Gloucestershire, England, August 22, 1874. Summer Rain . . . . . . . .21 Dor.soN, Henry Austin. Bom in Plymouth, England, January 18, 1840. To a June Rose 95 DowDEN, Edward. Born in Dublin, Ireland, May 3, 1843. A Summer Moon 53 Drake, Joseph Rodman. Bom in New York City, August 7, 1795. Died in New York City, September 21, 1820. Summer Night on the Hudson .... loS Fawcett, Edgar. Bom in New York City, May 26, 1847. Clover 24 June 75 To an Oriole 130 A Humming-Bird 127 XVI INDEX OF AUTHORS, Pagb Gilder, Richard Watson. Bom in Bordentown, New Jersey, February 8, 1844. On the Wild Rose Tree 103 Summer's Rain and Winter's Snow . . • 7-^ Summer Twilights 129 GooDALE, Dora Read. Bom in South Egremont, Massachusetts, October 29, 1S66. A June Day 89 Griswold, Mrs. Hattie [Tyng]. Bom in Boston, Massachusetts, January 26, 1842. In the Clover 57 Hartzell, J. Hazard. Bom in Buffalo Township, Washington County, Pennsylvania, 18 — . The Drought in June 104 Hayne, Paul Hamilton. Bom in Charleston, South Carolina, January i, 1831. A Dream o£ the South Winds in June ... 41 June xxviii Herrick, Robert. Bom in London, England, August 20, 1591. Died in Dean Priors, Devonshire, England, October 15, 1674. To Blossoms 19 To Carnations 120 Hewlett, Henry Gay. Bom in London, England, April 4, 1832. June 65 INDEX OF AUTHORS. XVU Page HiGGiNSON, Susan Louisa. Bom in Boston, Massachusetts, November ig, 1816. Died in Portland, Maine, August 27, 1875. June 68 HiLDRETH, Charles Lotin. Born in New York City, August 28, 1853. June Days 114 The Wood Thrush 120 HoBBS, Mrs. Mary Elizabeth [Erwin]. Born in Bethany, New York, June 21, 1841. June 51 Holmes, Oliver Wendell. Bom in Cambridge, Massachusetts, August 29, 1809. The Birds in Early June 3 Hopkins, Mrs. Louisa Parsons [Stone]. Bom in Newburyport, Massachusetts, April 19, 1834. Morning Glories 44 Houghton, Alanson Bigelow. Bora in Cambridge, Massachusetts, October 10, 1863. A Ballade of a Windy Day 74 Howells, William Dean. Born in Martinsville, Ohio, March i, 1837. The Long Days 93 INDEX OF AUTHORS. Pace Hunt, James IIknry Leigh. Horn in SoulI\gate, England, October 19, 1784. Died in Putney, England, August 28, 1859. To June Jenner, Edward. Born in Berkeley, Gloucestershire, England, May 17, 1749. Died in Berkeley, Gloucestershire, England, January 26, 1823. Signs of Rain 17 Jones, Mrs. Rosaline [Evvan]. Bom in Sparta, Dearborn County, Indiana, May 7, 1846. The First Cricket 118 Kenyon, James Benjamin. Born in Frankfort, Herkimer County, New York, April 26, 1S5S. When Clover Blooms ...... 94 Landor, Walter Savage. Bom in Ipsley Court, Warwickshire, England, January 30, 1775. Died in Florence, Italy, September 17, 1864. What Garden but Glows 14 Larcom, Lucy. Bom in Beverly Farms, Massachusetts, 1826. The Death of June 132 Lathrop, George Parsons. Born in Honolulu, Sandwich Islands, August 25, 1S51. June Longings 48 O June, Sweet June loi INDEX OF AUTHORS. XIX Page Lazarus, Emma. Born in New York City, July 22, 1849. A June Night 91 LiDDELL, Mrs. Christina Catharine [Fraser-Tytler]. Bom in Narsick, India, February 14, 1848. A Day in June 33 Lodge, Thomas. Bom in Woolwich, England, 1618. Died in London, England, 1658. Love in Summertime 35 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. Born in Portland, Maine, February 27, 1807. Died in Cambridge, Massachusetts, March 24, 1882. A Summer Day by the Sea 63 June . 3 Lord, Augustus Mendon. Bom iu San Francisco, California, February 7, 1861. Boating 22 Lowell, James Russell. Bom in Cambridge, Massachusetts, February 22, i8ig. In June 122 June I Now is the High Tide of the Year ... 43 Out of doors in June Title-page The Bobolink 37 What is so Rare 96 XX IXDEX OF AUTHORS. Pagb Mason, Mrs. Caroline Atherton [Briggs]. I!i>rn ill Marblehead, Massachusetts, July 27, 1823. June 43 Marston, Philip Bourke. Bom in London, England, 1850. A June Day 79 June 121 Summer's Return 65 Marzials, Theophile. Bom in England, 1850. The Grafter's Task is Ended 15 Morris, George Perkins. Bom in Philadelphia, Pennsj'lvania, October 10, 1802. Died in New York City, July 6, 1864. Come to me in Cherry Time 123 Morris, Lewis. Bom in Caermarthen, Wales, January 23, 1833. The Sweet June Night 55 Morris, William. Bom near London, England, March, 1834. A Night in June 56 June 99 June Drew unto its End 132 Moulton, Mrs. Louise [Chandler]. Bom in Pomfret, Connecticut, April 10, 1835. Morning Glory 64 She was Won in an Idle Day 102 INDEX OF AUTHORS. XXI Page MUNKITTRICK, RiCHARD KENDALL. Born in Manchester, England, March 5, 1853. A June Lily 122 Here 11 NoRRis, Alfred. Born in England, 18 — . Summer 6 NoYES, Charles Henry. Born in Marshall, Michigan, July 28, 1849. The Bumble-Bee 80 Peck, Samuel Minturn. Born in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, 1854. Noontide 126 Puck 130 Perry, Nora. Bom in Providence, Rhode Island, 18 — . In June 39 Pfeiffer, Mrs. Emily [Davis]. Bom in England, 18 — . Rose Song 33 Villanelle 45 Powers, Horatio Nelson. Born in Amenia, New York, April 30, 1826. The Tulip Tree in Blossom 12 xxii INDEX 01' AUTHORS. Pagb Proryn, May. Boru in England, 18 — . Swinging 71 PROcroR, Edna Dean. Boni in Henniker, New Hampshire, 18 — , Heaven, O Lord, I cannot Lose 61 Rexford, Eben Eugene. Born in Johnsburgh, Warren County, New York, July 16, 1848. In June S.3 Wooing 60 Rollins, Mrs. Alice Marland [Wellington]. Born in Boston, Massachusetts, June 12, 1847. A Song of Summer 34 Ropes, Arthur Reed. Born in London, England, December 23, 1859. On the Bridge 26 Scollard, Clinton. Bom in Clinton, New York, September 18, 1S60. Across the Crimson Clover Seas .... 106 A June Garden Carol 84 A June Harmony 31 Sharp, William. Bom in England, 18 — . A Summer Idyl 11 1 INDEX OF AUTHORS. XXllI Page Shelley, Percy Bysshe. Born in Field Place, near Horsham, Surrey, England, August 4, 1792. Drowned in the Bay of Spezzia, Italy, July 8, 1822. In Joyous June 125 June 81 Sherman, Frank Dempster. Born in Peekskill, New York, May 6, i860. Rose Secrets 127 Summer 2 Shurtleff, Ernest Warburton. Born in Boston, Massachusetts, April 4, 1862. June 32 Smith, Minna Caroline. Born in Monterey, California, July 24, i860. June 88 Spenser, Edmund. Born in London, England, circa 1553. Died in London, England, January 15, 1599. June 15 Summer 30 Spofford, Mrs. Harriet Elizabeth [Prescott]. Born in Calais, Maine, April 3, 1835. Ballad . 131 A Four O'clock 67 Stoddard, Richard Henry. Bom in Hingham, Massachusetts, July, 1825. Summer 16 XXIV INDEX OF AUTHORS. Paob Street, Alfred Billings. Bom in PouKlikeepsie, New York, December iR, iSii. Died in Albany, New York, June 2, 1881. In June 97 SvMONDs, John Addington. Bom in Bristol, England, October 5, 1840. Summer 1 16 Tennyson-Turner, Charles. Born in Somersby, Lincolnshire, England, July 4, 1S08. Died in Cheltenham, England, April 25, 1879. A Summer Twilight 56 Thomas, Edith Matilda. Born in Chatham, Medina County, Ohio, August 12, 1854. Delay 4 Solstice 69 Thomson, James. Bom in Ednam, Roxburghshire, Scotland, September 11, 1700. Died in New Lane, near Richmond, England, August 27, 1748. Summer Comes 4 Thompson, Charles Miner. Bom in Montpelier, Vermont, March 24, 1864. Moonrise in June 124 Todhunter, John. Bom in England, 18 — . A June Day . .81 INDEX OF AUTHORS. XXV Page TussER, Thomas. Bom in Rivenhall, near Witham, Essex, England, circa 13 '5- Died in London, circa 1580. June's Husbandry 88 Umsted, J. S. H. Born in England, 18 — . z A Ballade of Summer 86 Wasson, David Atwood. Born in Brooksville, Maine, May 14, 1823. Joy Month Webster, Mrs. Augusta [Davies]. Bom in Poole, Dorsetshire, England, 1840. Oh the Merry Lay of June 87 Wilde, Oscar Fingall O'Flahertie Wills. Bom in Dublin, Ireland, October 16, 1855. Full Summer Now 78 Long Listless Summer Hours . . . .123 Wilson, Robert Burns. Bom near Canuonsburgh, Pennsylvania, October 30, 1S50. June Days 27 WooLSON, Mrs. Abba [Goold]. Bom in Windham, Maine, April 30, 1838. A Summer's Day 115 XXVI JA'DEX OF AUTHORS. Vkc.m WooLSON, Constance Fen i more. Bom in Clarcmout, New Hampshire, i8 — . The Heart of June 109 Wordsworth, William. Bom in Cockermouth, Cumberland, England, April 7, 1770. Died in Rydal Mount, Westmoreland, England, April 23, 1S50. The Longest Day 70 JUNE, JUNE. She hath looked in the Sun's, her Prince'' s eyes, IVith a glance ''tivixt passion and shy stirprise, Like her's who was wakened through smiles and tears From the spellbound sleep of a htmdred years. She has wakened, too, with a soul astir For the radiant lover Fate sends to herj And the earth is set to a bridal tune. When the Sun-god marries his sweetheart, June / Paul Hamilton Hayne, JUNE. JUNE. June is the pearl of our New England year. Still a surprisal, though expected long, Her coming startles. Long she lies in wait, Makes many a feint, peeps forth, draws coyly back. Then, from some southern ambush in the sky, With one great gush of blossoms storms the world. A week ago the sparrow was divine. The bluebird, shifting his light load of song From post to post along the cheerless fence, Was as a rhymer ere the poet come ; But now, O rapture ! sunshine winged and voiced, Pipe blown through by the warm wild breath of the west Shepherding his soft droves of fleecy cloud. Gladness of woods, skies, waters, all in one, The bobolink has come, and, like soul Of the sweet season vocal in a bird, Gurgles in ecstasy we know not what Save jfime ! Dear jfune ! Notv God be praised for June. James Russell Lowell. Under The Willmvs. SUMMER. SUMMER. Meadows lost in clouds of mist; Grass whose lips the dew has kissed ; Euds whose fragrant breath is drawn Through the freshness of the dawn ; Vines in whose slight pulses flows Life-blood of the crimson rose ; Flocks of happy-hearted birds Talking in melodious words ; Brooks, unfettered by the spring, Through the pastures murmuring ; Children prattling in their glee Chasing to the mother sea ; Soft south breezes, gentle rain, Rival wooers of the plain ; Here and there beside the path Flowers emerging from their bath ; Waving forest-floods of green, Leaves with blossoms white between. Ah ! the bud is open now. Hints of fruit hang on the bough, And the velvet rose is born At the coming of the morn : There's a gladness in the sun Speaks of something new begun, Of a work mysterious Nature has performed for us. Hark, the honey-bee's low hum Tells us that the summer's come ! P"rank Dempster Sherman. JUNE. 3 THE BIRDS IN EARLY JUNE. Then flash the wings returning summer calls Through tlie deep arches of her forest halls : The bluebird, breathing from his azure plumes The fragrance borrowed where the myrtle blooms ; The thrush, poor wanderer, dropping meekly down, Clad in his remnant of autumnal brown ; The oriole, drifting like a flake of fire Rent like a whirlwind from a blazing spire. The robin, jerking his spasmodic throat, Repeats, imperious, his staccato note ; The crack-brained bobolink courts his crazy mate Poised on a bulrush tipsy with his weight ; Nay, in his cage the lone canary sings. Feels the soft air, and spreads his idle wings. Oliver Wendell Holmes. Spring. JUNE. Mine is the Month of Roses ; yes and mine The Month of Marriages ! All pleasant sights And scents, the fragrance of the blossoming vine, The foliage of the valleys and the heights. Mine are the longest days, the loveliest nights ; The mower's scythe makes music to my ear; I am the mother of all dear delights ; I am the fairest daughter of the year. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The Poct^s Calendar. DELAY. — SUMMER COMES. DELA V. O Spirit of the Spring, delay, delay ! Be chary of thy gifts ; by slow degrees Roll back the leafy tide on forest trees ; And in all fields keep thou a jealous sway, Lest the low grass break into sudden spray, And clover toss its purples on the breeze. Bind fast those lily-buds, that pr^'ing bees Shall have no entrance, murmur as they may. Scatter not yet the orchard's scented snows, Nor break the cage tliat holds the butterfly, Nor let the blow-ball wander up the sky : What ! flown so lightly? By yon upstart rose, Summer is here with all her gaudy shows. O Spirit of the Spring, good-by, good-by ! EniTii Matilda Thomas SUMMER COMES. From brightening fields of ether fair disclosed, Child of the sun, refulgent Summer comes. In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth : He comes attended by the sultr)' hours. And ever-fanning breezes, on his way ; While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring Averts her blushing face ; and earth, and skies, All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves. James Thomson. The Seasons. THE DEPARTURE OF THE CUCKOO 5 THE DEPARTURE OF THE CUCKOO. So, some tempestuous morn in early June, When the year's primal burst of bloom is o'er, Before the roses and the longest day, — When garden walks and all the grassy floor With blossoms red and white of fallen May And chestnut-flowers are strewn, — So have I heard the cuckoo's parting cry, From the wet field, through the vext garden trees, Come with the volleying rain and tossing breeze : The bloom is gone, and with the bloom go If Too quick despairer, wherefore wilt thou go ? Soon will the high midsummer pomps come on. Soon will the musk carnations break and swell, Soon shall we have gold-dusted snapdragon, Sweet-William with his homely cottage-smell, And stocks in fragrant blow ; Roses that down the alleys shine afar, And open, jasmine-muffled lattices, And groups under the dreaming garden trees, And the full moon, and the white evening star. He hearkens not ! light comer, he is flown ! What matters it ? next year he will return, And we shall have him in the sweet spring days, With whitening hedges, and uncrumpling fern, And bluebells trembling by the forest ways, And scent of hay new mown. Matthew Arnold. Thyrsis. 6 SUMMER. OPE, FOLDED ROSE. Ope, folded rose ! Longs for thy beauty the expectant air ; Longs every silken breeze that round thee blows ; The watching summer longs to vaunt thee fair; Ope, folded rose ! Ope, folded rose ! The memory of thy glory lit the gloom, The dull grey gloom of winter and its snows ; O dream of summer in the firelit room, Ope, folded rose ! William Cox Bennett. SUMMER. Dancing along the lands Green-gowned summer has come, her robe spread out in her hands. And to see her the morn wakes soon, and the even- ing is loth to go, Whilst the stars crowd thick in the sky to watch her in sleep below. To prepare for her coming, the sun Worked with a burning touch, and to-day all his work is done : SUMMER. 7 The fields with their flowers are dressed, the grasses are long and soft ; The birds have their song in the bushes, the bees their drone in the croft. You meet her in earliest dawn Breathing most fragrant breath by the side of the blossoming thorn ; Laughing along by the streams, or pausing in val- leys still, Or painting with tender tints the bare brown rocks on the hill. Oft in the noontide heat She turns to the antique woods where the dew lies fresh for her feet ; Where the green lights fall through the leaves on couches of rounded moss. And the sway of a wind-swung bough throws shadow and sunshine across. Then at the end of the day, Out at the edge of the sea when the waves plash cool on the bay; And a pathway of gold is traced from the Palace of Sunset's door Far over the heaving tide to the smooth wet sand on the shore. Quickly wherever she goes Comes a warmer waft to the wind and a richer red to the rose ; 8 JOY MONTH. On the wave a bluer surge, in the orchard a whiter bloom, A brightening light for the sky and greener grass for the tomb. Alfred Norris. JOY MONTH. O HARK to the brown thrush ! hear how he sings ! How he pours the dear pain of his gladness ! What a gush ! and from out what golden springs ! What a rage of how sweet madness ! And golden the buttercup blooms by the way, A song of the joyous ground ; While the melody rained from yonder spray Is a blossom in fields of sound. How glisten the eyes of the happy leaves ! How whispers each blade, " 1 am blest ! " Rosy heaven his lips to flowered earth gives, With the costliest bliss of his breast. Pour, pour of the wine of thy heart, O Nature, By cups of field and sky, By the brimming soul of every creature ! Joy-inad, dear Mother, am I ! TO JUNE. 9 Tongues, tongues for my joy, for my joy ! more tongues ! O thanks to the thrush on the tree, To the sky, and to all earth's blooms and songs ! They utter the heart in me. David Atwood Wasson. TO JUNE. May's a word 'tis sweet to hear, Laughter of the budding year ; Sweet it is to start, and say On May morning, " This is May ! " But there also breathes a tune. Hear it, — in the sound of " June." June's a month, and June's a name, Never yet hath had its fame. Summer's in the sound of June, Summer and a deepened tune Of the bees, and of the birds, And of loitering lovers' words, And the brooks that, as they go, Seem to think aloud, yet low ; And the voice of early heat. Where the mirth-spun insects meet ; And the very color's tone Russet now, and fervid grown ; All a voice, as if it spoke lO TO JUNE. Of the brown wood's cottage smoke, And the sun, and bright green oak. O come quickly, show thee soon, Come at once with all thy noon. Manly, joyous, gipsy June. May, the jade, with her fresh cheek And the love the bards bespeak, !May, by coming first in sight, Half defrauds thee of thy right ; For her best is shared by thee With a wealthier potency, So that thou dost bring us in A sort of Maytime masculine, Fit for action or for rest, As the luxury seems the best, Bearding now the morning breeze, Or in love with paths of trees. Or disposed, full length, to lie With a hand-enshaded eye On thy warm and golden slopes, Basker in the buttercups, Listening with nice distant ears To the shepherd's clapping shears, Or the next field's laughing play In the happy wars of hay, While its perfume breathes all over. Or the bean comes fine, or clover. O could I walk round the earth, With a heart to share my mirth, HERE. 1 1 With a look to love me ever, Thoughtful much, but sullen never, I could be content to see June, and no variety. Loitering here, and living there, With a book and frugal fare. With a finer gipsy time, And a cuckoo in the clime, Work at morn, and mirth at noon. And sleep beneath the sacred moon. James Henry Leigh Hunt. HERE. A FLOWERY veil o'er the glen unfurls. The sky is bright with a jasper sheen, The wind-swayed daisy the dewdrop pearls As an opal the brow of an Eastern queen. The garden is fragrant everywhere, In its lily-bugles the gold bee sups, And butterflies flutter on winglets fair. Round the tremulous meadow buttercups. O summer is here with its breezy train I know by the robin's roundelay That floats from the sumach in the lane All mixt with the perfume of new-mown hay. Richard Kendall Munkittrick. 1 2 THE TULIP TKEE IN BLOSSOM. THE TULIP TREE IN BLOSSOM. SvLVAN splendor ! meadows' pride ! Pet of lawns, and summer's bride ! Naught but perfumed airs, and words Culled from madrigals of birds. Strains of lapsing brooks between Rosy rocks and banks of green, Whispers in the scented grass, As the robins pause and pass, Echoes of far-off cascades In the gleam of moonlit glades, Suit the mellow roundelays That should carol in thy praise. As if I should try to paint Sacred raptures of a saint, So I strive with loving strain — Strive and strive, alas ! in vain, All thy witching charms to tell, — Flora's woodland miracle ! Tell me, therefore, gracious one, Of thy dalliance with the sun, What elixir feeds thy shoots. The alembic at thy roots, That thy life so fair should be — Spirit breathing in a tree ! Tell me of thy trance at noon In the luscious kiss of June ; HAYTIME. 13 All thy languors, heats, desire, Till thy blossoms glow like fire ; Why the zephyrs ne'er refuse Thee the secret forest news, How is caught the tender gold That thy royal pitchers hold. And to all as freely pour As if Dance felt the shower. Do the birds thy boughs among Learn a catch of fresher song ? Why does every vagrant bee Feel so much at home with thee'. Tell me why, beside thy feet, Love to lovers seems more sweet, Happy lovers think they stand In the bower of fairyland, And the poet's heart is pressed Closer still to Beauty's breast. Vain I ask, — but still I feel All I pray thee to reveal. Life of thine is life to me, High-born, peerless Tulip Tree ! Horatio Nelson Powers. HA YTIME. Haytime's here In June, and many a scythe in sunshine flames. Matthew Arnold. The Scholar Gipsy. 14 WHAT GARDEiV BUT GLOWS. IN JUNE. " I slunu you a mysicTy." O FRIEND, your face I cannot see, Your voice I cannot hear, But for us both breaks at our feet The floodtide of the year ; The summertide all beautiful With fragrance, and with song Sung by the happy-hearted birds To cheer the months along. And so the mystery I show Is this, all simple-sweet : Because God's summertide so breaks At yours and at my feet, We're not so very far apart As it at first would seem ; We're near each other 2?i the Lord ; The miles are all a dream. John White Chadwick. WHAT GARDEN BUT GLOWS. What garden but glows With at least its one rose Whether sunny or shower)' be June ? Walter Savage Landor. Last Fruit off an Old Tree. JUNE. 1 5 THE GRAFTER'S TASK IS ENDED. The grafter's task is ended ; The long day verged in June ; The blue-downed plum descended From boughs bent down o'ersoon ; Amid the sunset blended, The silvery streak of moon The day has scarcely ended From rosy night to noon ; And spring has sunk to summer ; And Death's sweet voice gets dumber. For Love, the latest comer, Has taken up the tune. Theophile Marzials. In the Temple of Love, JUNE. . . . Came Jolly June, arrayed AH in green leaves, as he a player were ; Yet in his time he wrought as well as played. That by his plow-irons mote right well appear. Upon a Crab he rode, that did him bear With crooked crawling steps an uncouth pace. And backward yode, as bargemen wont to fare Bending their force contrary to their face, Like that ungracious crew which fains demurest grace. Edmund Spenser. The Faerie Queene. 1 6 SUMMER. ON THE EDGE OE THE MARSH. IN NOVEMDER. Dead sienna and rusty gold Tell the year on the marsh is old. Blackened and bent, the sedges shrink Back from the sea pool's frosty brink. Low in the west a wind cloud lies, Tossed and wild in the autumn skies. Over the marshes, mournfully, Drifts the sound of the restless sea. IN JUNE. Fair and green is the marsh in June ; Wide and warm in the sunny noon. The flowering rushes fringe the pool With slender shadows, dim and cool. From the low bushes " Bob White " calls ; Into his nest a roseleaf falls. The blueflag fades ; and through the heat, Far off, the sea's faint pulses beat. Antoinette Alcott Bassett. SUMMER. The summertime has come again, With all its light and mirth. And June leads on the laughing Hours To bless the weary earth. S/GJ^S OF RAIN. ly The sunshine lies along the street, So dim and cold before, And in the open window creeps And slumbers on the floor. The country was so fresh and fine And beautiful in May, It must be more than beautiful, A Paradise to-day ! If I were only there again, I'd seek the lanes apart, And shout aloud in mighty woods, To ease my happy heart ! But prisoned here with flat brick walls, I sit alone and sigh ; My only glimpse of summer near, A strip of cloudy sky. Richard Henry Stoddard. S/CA'S or RAIN. The hollow winds begin to blow, The clouds look black, the glass is low, The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep, The spiders from their cobwebs peep : Last night the sun went pale to bed, The moon in haios hid her head ; l8 S/G.VS OF RAIN. The boding shepherd heaves a sigh, For, see, a rainbow spans the sky : The walls are damp, the ditches smell, Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel. Hark how the chairs and tables crack ! Old Betty's joints are on the rack ; Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry. The distant hills are seeming nigh. How restless are the snorting swine ; The busy flies disturb the kine ; Low o'er the grass the swallow wings, The cricket, too, how sharp he sings ; Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws, Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws. Through the clear stream the fishes rise, And nimbly catch the incautious flies. The glowworms, numerous and bright. Illumed the dewy dell last night. At dusk the squalid toad was seen, Hopping and crawling o'er the green ; The whirling wind the dust obeys, And in the rapid eddy plays ; The frog has changed his yellow vest And in a russet coat is dressed. Though June, the air is cold and still, The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill. My dog, so altered in his taste, Quits muttonbones on grass to feast ; And see yon rooks, how odd their flight, They imitate the gliding kite, TO BLOSSOMS. 1 9 And seem precipitate to fall, As if they felt the piercing ball. 'Twill surely rain, I see with sorrow, Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow. Edward Jenner. TO BLOSSOMS. Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast ? Your date is not so past. But you may stay yet here a while, To blush and gently smile, And go at last. What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight. And so to bid goodnight ? 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth. Merely to show your worth And lose you quite. But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave ; And after they have shown their pride. Like you a while, they glide Into the grave. Robert Herrick. 20 JUNE. JUNE. Never was my life's ncgltcted garden Half so full of fragrance as to-day ; Never has the world been half so radiant, Nor its shapes of sorrow and dismay Ever seemed so few and far away. Wide the chestnut waves its spreading branches, In a white bewilderment of bloom, And the lilacs, overwhelmed with blossoms, Drooping like a wounded warrior's plume, Hang their faint heads weary with perfume. On the sea a veil of silvery softness. Faint, and filmy, and mysterious, lies, Blending doubtfully the far horizon With the azure of the smiling skies, Tender as the blue of loving eyes. On the grass the fallen apple blossoms Heap a pillow rosy-hued and rare, While the dim ghosts of the dandelions Sail serenely in the untroubled air, And the clover blushes everywhere. In the leaves a bobolink is pouring Passion-songs which brook no pause or rest ; Hark ! how gushingly the liquid music Swells and overflows his trembling breast. Like a love that cannot be repressed ! SUMMER RAIN. 21 O the joy, the kixury, the rapture, Thus to brush away the chains of care. Thus to drop the mask from heart and forehead, To be glad and young again, and wear Lilies of the valley in my hair ! Far away, unfelt and scarce remembered. Seems the world-life harsh and turbulent, So much harmony, and joy and beauty, In this matchless day of days are blent, I desire no more, — I am content ! Mrs. Elizabeth Ann [Chase] [Akers] Allen. SUMMER RAIN. Rain, rain, sweet warm rain, On the wood and on the plain ; Rain, rain, warm and sweet. Summer wood lush leafy and loud. With note of a throat that ripples and rings. Sad sole sweet from her central seat, Bubbling and trilling. Filling, filling, filling The shady space of the green dim place With an odor of melody. Till the noon is thrilling, And the great wood hangs in the balmy day Like a cloud with an angel in the cloud. And singing because she sings ! 22 BOATING. Rain, rain, warm sweet rain, On the wood and on the plain ; Rain, rain, still and sweet. For the winds have hushed again, And the nightingale is still, Sleeping in her central seat. Rain, rain, summer rain. Silent as the summer heat. Doth it fall, or doth it rise ? Is it incense from the hill, Or bounty from the skies ? Or is the face of earth that lies Languid, looking up on high. To the face of heaven so nigh That their balmy breathings meet ? Sydney Dobell. A Shower in War Time. BOA TING. A June day, cool from recent rain ; The sky without a speck or stain To mark the grey storm's toil and stress ; The brimming river rippleless. Into the stream the long boat swings ; Soft drop her oars, like sinewy wings. And more than lifeless steel and wood, She leaps into the middle flood. Her strength is ours, our will is hers. One life wathin us thrills and stirs. BOATING. 23 What joy with rhythmic sweep and sway To fly along the liquid way, To feel each tense-drawn muscle strain, And hear the dripping blade's refrain ; Or, resting on the level oar, To drift beside the dusky shore Through green pads whispering as we pass, And bending beds of pickerel grass, And watch with eager, grateful eye The woodland's changing pageantry ; The gnarled oaks spreading broad and low. The elms that like leaf-fountains grow ; Ash, chestnut, lightsome maple grove, With elder-thickets interwove, And, sharply clear against the green. The swaying birch's silver sheen. We catch the smell of sun-warmed pines. Of marsh-pinks, and of wild grape vines, And scent, that make the bee's heart glad, Of pungent Balm of Gilead. And now, in sunlight once again, We round the headland's narrow plain ; Three strokes, and on the shelving sand We bring the willing boat to land ; Then off through stubbly pasture dells Sparse- set with cedar sen-tinels, To where in cool, leaf-laughing nook Slips o'er the stones the swollen brook. Outstretched full length beside the stream, We lie half-waking, half in dream, 24 CLOVER. And feast our cars with woodland notes. Ddun the warm air the wren's song floats, Sharp trumpets out the angry jay. Hark ! from some tree top far away The catbird's saucy answer falls ; And, when all else is silent, calls, Deep bowered on some shady hill, The day-caught, sleepy whippoorwill. But look ! the level sunbeams shine Along the tree trunks' gleaming line ; A sea of gold, the water fills The purple circle of the hills. Home then our sparkling path we trace, The sunset's glory in our face, Which fades and fades, till as we reach The low pier and the shingly beach, On stream, and wood, and hilltop bare The moon's soft light lies everywhere. Augustus Mendon Lord. CLOVER. Wild rustic cousins of the dainty rose, Whose fragrant banquets lure the greedy bees, Haytime's pink prophecies while young June goes. How brightly spread your many-blossoming seas, Rippled whichever way the warm winds please. Laughterful children feel your tufts of bloom Brush their soft limbs, alert with merry leaps. CLOVER. 25 The iridescent humming bird's low boom With mellow music thrills your balmy deeps, Where dew that was born yesterday still sleeps ! Here, too, the massive lazy cow, star-eyed. Thrusts down her dark moist nose, and all day long. By your delicious feast unsatisfied, Crops with rough florid tongue your honeyed throng, Lashing off flies with her tail's restless thong. Or sometimes from your cool bournes, where it hid, A butterfly soars fluttering, breeze-assailed, Gay as those flowery gondolas that slid Through sculptured Venice in old days, and trailed Brocades and velvets where they softly sailed ! O clover, tended by the shining showers Until your lavish color gladlier beams, Or, through the yellow calms of morning hours, Dappled with interchange of glooms and gleams, Like vague recurrences of differing dreams, Does Nature act in you her frankest part. And are you thoughts that she would simply say, Speaking them right from her full-throbbing heart ? Or were you made in some mysterious way, From damask blushes of young morns in May ? Edgar Fawcett. 26 THE EARLIEST BREATH OF JUNE. ON THE BRIDGE. All the storm has rolled away, Only now a cloud or two Drifts in ragged disarray Over the deep darkened blue ; And the risen golden moon Shakes the shadows of the trees Round the river's stillnesses And the bird song of the June. Under me the current glides, Brown and deep and dimly lit. Soundless save against the sides Of the arch that narrows it ; And the only sound that grieves Is a noise that never stops, Footsteps of the falling drops Down the ladders of the leaves. Arthur Reed Ropes. THE EARLIEST BREATH OF JUNE. The earliest breath of June Blows the white tassels from the cherry boughs, And in the deepest shadow of the noon The mild-eyed oxen browse. Mrs. Elizabeth Ann [Chase] [Akers] Allen. Violet Planting. JUNE DAYS. 27 JUNE DAYS. The whilom hills of grey, whose tender shades Were dashed with meagre tints of early spring, Lift now their rustling domes and colonnades, And from their airy battlements they fling Their banners to the wind, and in the glades Spread rich pavilions for the summer's king. Now lifts the love-lit soul, and life's full tide Swells from the ground and beats the trembling air, Mounts up the steeps, and on the landscape wide Spreads, like a boundless ocean everywhere ; Delight's dear dreams the dancing waves divide, And with swift sails outfly pursuing care. The sometime fields that sad and sodden lay, Soaked in the first cold rains, or flecked with snow. With helpless grasses trodden in the clay By shivering herds that wandered to and fro. Wave now with grain, and happy birds all day Pipe, hidden on the slopes with flowers ablow. The yellow streams that fled from winter's hold When first the young year saw the vernal moon. And lapped the yielding banks whose moistened mold Slipped mingling with the flood, now sleep at noon. 28 yrXE DAYS. Calm as the imaged hills which they enfold, All glimmering in the long, long skies of June. The brindled meadow hides the winding path With interlacing clover, white and red ; The blackbirds, startled from their dewy bath, Fly chattering, joyful with imagined dread ; The while the whetting scythe foretells the swath, And rings the knell of flowers that are not dead. Now waves of sunlight cross the field of wheat ; The shining crow toward the woodland flies ; Far in the fields the larks their notes repeat. And from the fence the whistling partridge cries ; Now to the cooling shades the cows retreat, To drowse and dream with mild, half-opening eyes. No other days are like the days in June ; They stand upon the summit of the year. Filled up with sweet remembrance of the tune That wooed the fresh spring fields ; they have a tear For violets dead ; they will engird full soon The sweet full breasts of Summer drawing near. Each matchless morning marches from the east In tints inimitable and divine ; Each perfect noon sustains that endless feast In which the wedded charms of life combine ; Sweet Evening waits till golden Day, released. Shall lead her blushing down the world's decline. JUNE. 29 And when the day is done, a crimson band Lies glowing on the hushed and darkening west ; The groups of trees like whispering spirits stand ; The robin's song lifts from its trembling breast ; The shadows steal out from the twilight land ; And all is peace and quietness and rest. Robert Burns Wilson. JUNE. An odorous breath of drowsy noon Creeping across the tangled grass ; The locusts' hum, the crickets' tune, The wild birds singing as they pass ; Mist where the distant mountains rise, Mist where the valleys nearer lie, Veiling the light of Nature's eyes. Wrapping together earth and sky ; Tremulous boughs of waving trees Raining down shadows cool and fair, Murmurous sighing summer breeze Falling across the tranced air ; Mirroring back the azure dome Lies the lake by the pine-crowned hill, Only the swell of its silver foam Making the silence deeper still. 30 SUMMER. Wonderful days of love and life, Magical days whose siren kiss Hushes to rest the inward strife, And life alone is perfect bliss. Beautiful days to sit apart, With but one friend to share your throne, Feeling the pulse of that dear heart Beat through the silence with your own ; Until the twilight pale and grey Woke on the shadowy evening's breast, And breathed above the dying day Her evening hymn of peace and rest. Mrs. Mary Elizabeth [McGrath] Blake. SUMMER. Then came the jolly Summer, being dight In a thin silken cassock colored green, That was unlined all, to be more light ; And on his head a garland well beseen He wore, from which, as he had chafed been, The sweat did drip ; and in his hand he bore A bow and shafts, as he in forest green Had hunted late the Libbard or the Boar, And now would bathe his limbs with labor heated sore. EdiMund Spenser. The J^aerie Queene. A yUNE HARMONY. 3 1 A JUNE HARMONY. A BIRD in the boughs sang " June," And " June " hummed a bee In a bacchic glee As he tumbled over and over, Drunk with the honey-dew ; Then the woods took up the tune, And the rippling runnels too, The tune of the bird that sang in the tree And the bee that buzzed in the clover. And " June " cried the leaves in time Till crickets at night, With a wild delight, Sang " June " to the moon downbeaming, " June " to the moon and stars ; And the grasses seemed to chime With the music's mellow bars, While butterflies danced with airy flight In the sunlight amber-gleaming. And the flowers were glad that swayed In the breeze whose tune Was forever " June ; " The rose and the regal lily, The humble blooms of the mead, The fragile ferns in the glade, The quivering rush and reed, All joyed in the azure afternoon And the morn and the evening stilly. 32 JUNE. And the song in every heart Found echo, and rang While the green hills sang With a throb and thrill of pleasure; Alike the old and the young, As they felt their pulses start, To their musical mirth gave tongue, Till from vale and hill the chorus sprang In a swelling, merrying measure. O joy to be out in June 'Neath the cloudless blue In the dawTi and dew 'Mid the ruddy buds of clover, To be out, alert and free ! For life is a precious boon With the world in harmony, When June wakes love in the heart anew And the cup of bliss brims over. Clinton Scollard. yUNE. Has queen-like June cast jewels on the earth, And turned them into flowers and brilliant birds ? Or whence have come these gem-like charms whose birth Brings eloquence and joy too grand foi words ? Ernest Warburton Shurtleff. A DAY IN JUNE. 33 ROSE SONG. The bloom is falling from the may, The rose, the rose is on the way ! Now let us think before she blows What we may do to greet the rose. We'll lie beneath the aspen trees And gaze upon her all day long. And gaze and gaze, but never speak What may not be uplift in song. And all our song shall be of love, The fainter for her passing breath. But, O take heed ! Before the rose We must not breathe a word of death. Mrs. Emily [Davis] Pfeiffer. A DAY IN JUNE. " Out of Heaven from God.'" Come down amongst us and men know it not ! They call it lightly^ fine summer's day. But breathing Nature knows it ; not one spot But trembles at the knowledge. Every spray From garden unto forest at its lot Smiles in the stillness, and the veil away 'Twixt earth and sky, earth's confines are forgot ; Praise shakes the world, too near its God to pray. Mrs. Christina Catharine [Fraser-Tytler] Liddell. 34 A SONG OF SUMMER. A SONG OF SUMMER. Laden with gifts of your giving, summer of June ! With the rapturous idyl of living In perfect attune ; With the sweetness of eve when it closes A day of delight; With the tremulous breath of the roses Entrancing the night ; With the glow of your cardinal flowers On lips that had paled ; And the coolness of silvery showers For hands that had failed ; With geraniums vivid with fire To wear on my breast, Where the lilies had paled with desire To bring to me rest ; With the joy that was born of your brightness Still thrilling my soul, And a heart whose bewildering lightness 1 cannot control ; Ah ! now that your idyl of living Is over too soon, What gifts can compare with your giving O summer of June ? Then a wraith of the winter said gently, " I will not deceive ; Of the brightness j'ou prize so intently No trace shall I leave. LOVE IN SUMMERTIME. 35 The glow of the cardinal flowers Shall pass from the field, And the softness of silvery showers To ice be congealed ; The geraniums vivid with fire Shall curl at the heart ; And the lily forget the desire Its peace to impart ; Pale as the rose that is dying, Your whitening cheek ; Faint as its tremulous sighing, Words you would speak ; For a joy that was born of their brightness I tremble with you, When the gleam and the glory and lightness Shall pass with the dew. Ah ! now that your idyl of living Is over so soon, What gifts will be left of your giving, O summer of June ? " Mrs. Alice Marland [Wellington] Rollins. LOVE IN SUMMERTIME. The earth, late choked with showers, Is now arrayed in green ; Her bosom springs with flowers. The air dissolves her teen ; IN THE SUMMEKTJME. The heavens laugh at her glory, Yet bide I, sad and sorry ! The woods are decked with leaves. And trees are clothed gay, And Flora, crowned with sheaves. With oaken boughs doth play ; Where I am clad in black. The token of my wrack. The birds upon the trees Do sing with pleasant voices, And chant in their degrees Their loves and lucky choices; When I, whilst they are singing With sighs my arms am wringing. The thrushes seek the shade, And I my fatal grave ; Their flight to heaven is made, My walk on earth I have ; They free, I thrall ; they jolly, I sad and pensive wholly. Thomas Lodge. IN THE SUMMERTIME. So beautiful the day had been, I scarce could deem that it would end ; To me it was a constant friend, A presence rather felt tlian seen. THE BOBOLINK. 3/ I watched the swallow in its flight, I watched the bounding river's flow, And caught the sun's delicious glow Through all the sleepless hours of light. A gentle tremor of the air Swept the treetops with murmurous sound ; While stretched upon the heathery ground I kissed my Mother's purple hair. And happy memories of the years Came wafted on the summer breeze (Like perfumes borne from far-off seas) Till pain was softened into tears. It was a bliss to breathe, to move. All thoughts of sorrow fled away ; Joy was my visitor that day, And with him hand in hand came Love, John Dennis. THE BOBOLINK. . . . June's bridesman, poet o' the year, Gladness on wings, the bobolink, is here ; Half-hid in tip-top apple blooms he swings. Or climbs against the breeze with quiverin' wings, Or, givin' way to't in a mock despair, Runs down, a brook o' laughter, thru the air. James Russell Lowell. T/ic Biglow Papers. 38 JUNE. JUNE. I GA^ED upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round, And thought that when I came to lie At rest within the ground, 'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June, When brooks send up a cheerful tune, And groves a joyous sound. The sexton's hand, my grave to make. The rich, green mountain turf should break. There through the long, long summer hours, The golden light should lie, And thick young herbs and groups of flowers Stand in their beauty by. The oriole should build and tell His love tale close beside my cell ; The idle butterfly Should rest him there, and there be heard The housewife bee and humming-bird. And what if cheerful shouts at noon Come, from the village sent. Or songs of maids, beneath the moon With fairy laughter blent ? And what if, in the evening light, Betrothed lovers walk in sight Of my low monument ? I would the lovely scene around Misfht know no sadder siirht nor sound. JiV JUNE. 39 I know, I know I should not see The season's glorious show, Nor would its brightness shine for me. Nor its wild music flow ; But if, around my place of sleep. The friends I love should come to weep, They might not haste to go. Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom, Should keep them lingering by my tomb. These to their softened hearts should bear The thought of what has been. And speak of one who cannot share The gladness of the scene ; Whose part, in all the pomp that fills The circuit of the summer hills Is, that his grave is green ; And deeply would their hearts rejoice To hear again his living voice. William Cullen Bryant. IN JUNE. So sweet, so sweet the roses in their blowing. So sweet the daffodils, so fair to see ; So blithe and gay the humming-bird a-going From flower to flower, a-hunting with the bee. So sweet, so sweet the calling of the thrushes. The calling, cooing, wooing, everywhere ; 40 jy JUNE. So sweet the waters' song through reeds and rushes, The plover's piping note, now here, now there. So sweet, so sweet from off the fields of clover. The west wind blowing, blowing up the hill ; So sweet, so sweet with news of some one's lover, Fleet footsteps, singing nearer, nearer still. So near, so near, now listen, listen, thrushes ; Now plover, blackbird, cease, and let me hear ; And, water, hush your song through reeds and rushes, That I may know whose lover cometh near. So loud, so loud the thrushes kept their calling, Plover or blackbird never heeding me ; So loud the millstream too kept fretting, falling. O'er bar and bank in brawling, boisterous glee. So loud, so loud ; yet blackbird, thrush, nor plover, Nor noisy millstream, in its fret and fall. Could drown the voice, the low voice of my lover, My lover calling through the thrushes' call. " Come down, come down ! " he called, and straight the thrushes From mate to mate sang all at once, " Come down ! " And while the water laughed through reeds and rushes. The blackbird chirped, the plover piped, " Come down ! " THE SOUTH WINDS IN JUNE. 4 1 Then down and off, and through the fields of clover, I followed, followed at my lover's call ; Listening no more to blackbird, thrush, or plover, I'he water's laugh, the millstream's fret and fall. Nora Perry. A DREAM OF THE SOUTH WINDS IN JUNE. O FRESH, how fresh and fair Through the crystal gulfs of air The fairy south wind floateth on her subtle wings of balm ! And the green earth lapped in bliss. To the magic of her kiss Seems yearning upward fondly through the golden- crested calm ! From the distant tropic strand. Where the billows, bright and bland, Go creeping, curling round the palms with sweet faint undertune, From its fields of purpling flowers Still wet with fragrant showers, The happy south wind, lingering, sweeps the royal blooms of June. All heavenly fancies rise On the perfume of her sighs. Which steep the inmost spirit in a languor rare and fine^ 42 THE SOUTH WINDS JX JUNE. And a peace, more pure than slcej^'s Unto dim, half-conscious deeps, Transports me, killed and dreaming, on its twilight tides divine. Those dreams, ah, me ! the splendor. So mystical and tender. Wherewith like soft heat lightnings they gird their meaning round, And those waters, calling, calling, With a nameless charm enthralling. Like the ghost of music melting on a rainbow spray of sound! Touch, touch me not, nor wake me, Lest grosser thoughts o'ertake me, From earth receding faintly with her dreary din and jars ; What viewless arms caress me ? What whispered voices bless me. With welcomes dropping dew-like from the weird and wondrous stars ? Alas ! dim, dim and dimmer Grows the preternatural glimmer Of that trance the south wind brought me on her subtle wings of balm. For behold ! its spirit fiieth. And its fairy murmur dieth, And the silence closing round me is a dull and soul- less calm ! Paul Hamilton IIayne. NOW IS THE NIGH TIDE OF THE YEAR. 43 JUNE. Fair month of roses ! Who would sing her praise, One says, should come direct from banqueting On honey from Hymettus, that he bring Fit flavor to the strain his lip essays. As if, around these exquisite, rare days Of richest June, for him who fain would sing Her loveliness, such sweetness did not cling As Hybla or Hymettus scarce could raise For all their storied bees ! And yet in vain, Poet, your verse : extol her as you will. One perfect rose her praises shall distil More than all song, though Sappho lead the strain. Forbear, then ; since, for any tribute fit. Her own rare lips alone can utter it. Mrs. Caroline Atherton [Briggs] Mason. NOW IS THE HIGH TIDE OF THE YEAR. Now is the high tide of the year, And whatever of life hath ebbbed away Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer. Into every bare inlet and creek and bay ; Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, We are happy now because God wills it ; No matter how barren the past may have been, 'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green ; 44 MORNING GLORIES. We sit in the warm shade and feel right well How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell ; \\'e may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing That skies are clear and grass is growing ; The breeze comes whispering in our ear, That dandelions are blossoming near, That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, That the river is bluer than the sky. That the robin is plastering his house hard by ; And if the breeze kept the good news back, For other couriers we should not lack ; We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing : And hark ! how clear bold chanticleer. Warmed with the new wine of the year Tells all in his lusty crowing ! James Russell Lowell. The Vision of Sir Lau)tfal. MORNING GLORIES. Delicate vases of fairest hue. Daintily set for the early dew, That the dying stars their grace may view. Pink of the conch-shell, blue of the sea, Tyrian purple with pearl flecked free, Tint their Etruscan symmetry. Hebe might covet the sheeny cup On its heart-shaped salver offered up, Where the queenly mornings their nectar sup. VILLANELLE. 45 O prodigal beauty for opening eyes ! The tendriled vine with its glad surprise Of bloom upturned to the dawn-flushed skies ! Mrs. Louisa Parsons [Stone] Hopkins. VILLANELLE. When the brow of June is crowned by the rose And the air is faint and fain with her breath, Then the Earth hath rest from her long birth-throes. The Earth hath rest and forgetteth her woes As she watcheth the cradle of Love and Death, When the brow of June is crowned by the rose. O Love and Death, who are counted for foes. She sees you twins of. one mind and faith, — The Earth at rest from her long birth-throes. You are twins to the mother who sees and knows ; " Let them strive and thrive together," she saith, When the brow of June is crowned by the rose. They strive, and Love his brother out-grows, But for strength and beauty he travaileth On the Earth at rest from her long birth-throes. And still when his passionate heart o'erflows Death winds about him a bridal wreath. As the brow of June is crov/ned by the rose ! 46 SUMMER. So the bonds of Death true lovers enclose, For Love and Death are as sword and sheath, When tlie Earth hath rest from lier long birtli-throes. They are sword and sheath, they are Life and it's shows, Which lovers have grace to see beneath, When the brow of June is crowned by the rose And the Earth hath rest from her long birth-throes. Mrs. Emily [Uavis] Pfkh-fer. SUMMER. The oak's slow-opening leaf, of deepening hue. Bespeaks the power of summer once again ; While many a flower unfolds its charms to view. To glad the entrance of his sultry reign. Where peep the gaping, speckled cuckoo-flowers. Sweet is each rural scene she brings to pass y Prizes to rambling schoolboys' vacant hours. Tracking wild searches through the meadow grass ; The meadow-sweet taunts high its showy wreath. And sweet the quaking grasses hid beneath. Ah, barred from all that sweetens life below, Another summer still my eyes can see Freed from this scorn and jDilgrimage of woe. To share the seasons of eternity. John Clare. THE DYING SYCAMORES. AJ THE DYING SYCAMORES. A BEAUTY like young womanhood's Upon the green earth lies, And June's sweet smile hath waked again All summer's harmonies. The insects hum their dreamy song, The trees their honors wear, And languid with its perfume spoils Sighs the voluptuous air. A gorgeous wealth of leaf and bloom Enchants the dazzled sight ; And over earth and sky there smiles A presence of delight. From yon sad, dying sycamores, Alone a shadow falls, As from the ghostly form of death In Egypt's banquet halls. Against the soft blue sky they stand, Their naked limbs outspread. And to the throbbing life around They murmur of the dead. Spring, with her soft and odorous breath, Hath sighed o'er them in vain ; For sun, or dew, or summer shower, They ne'er will bloom again. 48 JUNE LONGINGS. stately monarchs of the wood, What blight hath o'er ye passed ? What canker wastes your noble hearts ? ^^'hat spell is on ye cast ? 1 watch ye where a thousand forms With life and beauty glow, Till half I deem that on ye lies Some weight of human woe ! Some woe like that of human hearts, In this fair world of ours, That wither in their summer sun, O dying Sycamores. Mrs. Anne Charlotte [Lynch] Botta. JUNE LONGINGS. Lo, all about the lofty blue are blown Light vapors white, like thistle down. That from their softened silver heaps opaque Scatter delicate flake by flake, Upon the wide loom of the heavens weaving Forms of fancies past believing. And, with fantastic show of mute despair. As for some sweet hope hurt beyond repair, Melt in the silent voids of sunny air. All day the cooing brooklet runs in tune : Half sunk i' the blue, the powdery. moon THE DANDELIONS. 49 Shows whitely. Hark, the bobolink's note ! I hear it, Far and faint as a fairy spirit ! Yet all these pass, and as some blithe bird, winging. Leaves a heartache for his singing, A frustrate passion haunts me evermore For that which closest dwells to beauty's core. O Love, canst thou this heart of hope restore ? George Parsons Lathrop. THE DANDELIONS. Upon a showery night and still, Without a sound of warning, A trooper band surprised the hill, And held it in the morning. We were not waked by bugle-notes, No cheer our dreams invaded, And yet, at dawn, their yellow coats On the green slopes paraded. We careless folk the deed forgot ; Till, one day, idly walking, W^e marked upon the selfsame spot A crowd of veterans talking. They shook their trembling heads and grey With pride and noiseless laughter ; When, well-a-day ! they blew away. And ne'er were heard of after ! Helen Gray Cone. 50 BUMnLE-BRE. BUMBLE-DEE. As I lay yonder in tall grass A drunken bumble-bee went past Delirious with honey toddy. The golden sash about his body Could scarce keep in his swollen belly Distent with honeysuckle jelly. Rose liquor and the sweet-pea wine Had filled his soul with song divine ; Deep had he drunk the warm night through : His hairy thighs were wet with dew. Full many an antic he had played While the world went round through sleep and shade. Oft had he lit with thirsty lip Some flower-cup's nectared sweets to sip, When on smooth petals he would slip Or over tangled stamens trip, And headlong in the pollen rolled, Crawl out quite dusted o'er with gold. Or else his heavy feet would stumble Against some bud and down he'd tumble Amongst the grass ; there lie and grumble In low, soft bass, — poor maudlin bumble ! With tipsy hum on sleepy wing He buzzed a glee, — a bacchic thing Which, wandering strangely in the moon, He learned from grigs that sing in June, Unknown to sober bees who dwell Through the dark hours in waxen cell. JUNE. S r When south wind floated him away The music of the summer day- Lost something : sure it was a pain To miss that dainty starlight strain. Henry Augustin Beers. JUNE. Month of my heart ! with what a growth of green Thou comest to the garland of the year ! What snows have sifted, storms have swept between The June long vanished and the June now here ! What wealth of faded foliage beneath Thy feet, forgotten, lies in earth entombed, Sweet flowers on which the dying year did breathe, Half-opened petals, buds that never bloomed ! And from the ashes of the buried year Spring, phoenix-like, the glories of to-day ; The vernal wrappings that thy forests wear, The star-strewn emerald of thy carpet gay. For thee alone the opening roses blush, And breathe their fragrance out in many a sigh ; The listless air grows heavy with the hush, And wooing zephyrs faint in ecstasy. I hail thy coming ; and a gladder song Goes up from every warbler of the plain ; For greener trees and bluer skies belong To thee than any follower in thy train. S2 SOA'G OF THE GLOAMING. The rustling of thy leafy robes I heard In the soft music of the April showers, And caught the far-off trill of coming bird, And breathed the fragrance of thine unborn flowers. And thou art here ! I feel it in the lull That steals o'er Nature's bounding pulse to-day ; The spring retires and leaves the summer full Of brimming beauty, dauntless of decay. I hear thy presence in the whispering air, The lifting leaf, the honey-bee's low tune, The drowsy hum of insects everywhere ; The world is full of thee, O peerless June ! Mrs. Mary Elizabeth [Erwin] Hobbs. SONG OF THE GLOAMING. The toad has the road, the cricket sings, The hea\y beetle spreads its wings : The bat is the rover. No bee on the clover, The day is over, And night has come. The brake is awake, the grass aglow, The star above, the fly below : The bat is the rover, No bee on the clover. The day is over, And night has come. A SUMMER MOON. 53 The stream lies a-dream, the low winds tune, 'Tis vespers at the shrine of June : The bat is the rover, No bee on the clover, The day is over. And night has come : Now night has come. John Vance Cheney. In The Century Magazine. A SUMMER MOON. Queen-moon of this enchanted summer night, One virgin slave companioning thee, — I lie Vacant to thy possession as this sky Conquered and calmed by thy rejoicing might ; Swim down through my heart's deep, thou dewy- bright Wanderer of heaven, till thought must faint and die, And I am made all thine inseparably, Resolve into the dream of thy delight. Ah, no ! the place is common for her feet. Not here, not here, — beyond the amber mist. And breaths of dusky pine, and shining lawn. And unstirred lake, and gleaming belts of wheat, She comes upon her Latmos, and has kissed The sidelong face of blind Endymion. Edward Dowden. 54 A yr.vE evening. A JUNE EVENING. A GF.NTi.E breeze blows softly from the west And murmurs round each treetop-cradled nest ; Forth steals the dewy perfume of the roses In welcome wafted to the garden's guest. Within its narrow bounds I stand alone ; The hazy glamour of the moonbeams thrown Upon the sward, half hides and half discloses Shy blossoms by the loving zephyrs blown. A song bird winging toward an elm tree's height, Pauses a moment, in its upward flight, To hear the crickets from their grassy cover Fling their shrill songs adown the depths of night. A moth flits by on pinions light and free To roam at will till morn shall gild the lea ; Each floweret eagerly awaits her lover, A roving creature of the night is he ! The silver radiance floats o'er field and hill. In peace the bourgeoning wold lies, hushed and still, And yet, while gazing on the Junetide glory, My eyes with tears of longing slowly fill. Awakening sorrow brings its weight of woe When summer comes with all her golden glow. For in my heart upsprings an olden story, — The memory of a June of long ago. Florence Scollard Brow^n. THE SWEET JUNE NIGHT. 55 THE SWEET JUNE NIGHT. The long day wanes, the broad fields fade ; the night, The sweet June night, is like a curtain drawn. The dark lanes know no faintest sound, and white The pallid hawthorn lights the smooth-pleached lawn. The scented earth drinks from the silent skies Soft dews, more sweet than softest harmonies. There is no stir nor breath of air, the plains Lie slumbering in the close embrace of night. Only the rustling land-rail's note complains ; The children's casement shows the half-veiled light, Only beneath the solemn elm trees tall The fountain seems to fall and cease to fall. No change will come, nor any sound be made Through the still hours which shall precede the day; Only the bright-eyed stars will slowly fade. And a thin vapor rise up cold and grey. Then a soft breeze will whisper fresh and cold. And up the swift sun hurries red as gold. Sweet summer night, than summer days more fair, Safe haven of the weary and forlorn, Splendid the gifts the luminous noontides bear, Lovely the opening eyelids of the morn ; But thou with softest touch transfigurest This toil-worn earth into a haven of rest, Lewis Morris. 56 A NIGHT IN JUNE. A SUMMER TWILIGHT. It is a summer gloaming, balmy-sweet, A gloaming brightened by an infant moon, Fraught with the fairest light of middle June ; The lonely garden echoes to my feet, And hark ! O hear I not the gentle dews, Fretting the silent forest in his sleep ? Or does the stir of housing insects creep Thus faintly on mine ear ? Day's many hues Waned with the paling light and are no more, And none but drowsy pinions beat the air. The bat is hunting softly by my door, And, noiseless as the snowflake, leaves his lair, O'er the still copses flitting here and there, Wheeling the selfsame circuit o'er and o'er. Charles Tennyson-Turner. A NIGHT IN JUNE. Calm the June evening was, no sign of strife The clear sky showed, no storm grew round the sun, Unhappy that his day of bliss was done ; Dumb was the sea, and if the beechwood stirred, 'Twas with the nestling of the grey-winged bird Midst its thick leaves ; and though the nightingale Her ancient, hapless sorrow must bewail. No more of woe there seemed in her song Than such as doth to lovers' words belong, Because their love is still unsatisfied. IN THE CLOVER. 5/ So passed the night, the moon arose and grew, From off the sea a little west wind blew, Rustling the garden leaves like sudden rain ; And ere the moon had 'gun to fall again The wind grew cold, a change was in the sky, And in deep silence did the day draw nigh. Through the half-opened casements now there blew A sweet fresh air, that of the flowers and sea Mingled together, smelt deliciously. And from the unseen sun the spreading light Began to make the fair June blossoms bright. William Morris. The Earthly Paradise {OgUr the Dane). IN THE CLOVER. Soft is the rosy flush around me ; Deep in the clover here I lie ; Under, the arms of our mother Nature, Over, the infinite arch of sky. Trees are tossing their branches around me, Shadows are stretching the fields along ; Over the heads of the waving barley Comes the sound of the reapers' song. Thrush and bluebird soar above me, Robin and jay peer in at my bower, 58 VINE LIFE. And a brown bumble-bee, life all before him, Sits all alert on a cardinal flower. Far away stretch the fields of clover, Brown in the shadow, red in the sun ; Oat-fields toss in the billowy distance ; There's a fringe of willows where waters run. Labor calls in the sharp scythe swinging Down in the depths of the meadow-glooms ; But lotus and balm and sweet nepenthe Are all in the breath of the clover blooms. Mrs. Hattie [Tyng] Griswold. VINE LIFE. In the dead barrenness of wintertime I marked this woodbine latticing the wall. And said, " How pleasantly in summer's prime This vine shall beautify and curtain all ! " Ere yet in leafless elms the robins sung, Nature touched tenderly the network screen, And with her silent fingers slowly strung The limber stems with gems of living green. Yet some remained unbudded. Day by day I watched, — but not late April's gracious air, VINE LIFE. 59 Nor yet the warmer smiles of perfect May, Brought promise to the tendrils brown and bare. Whereat I grieved. " The winter was unkind," I said, " to shatter thus my summer dream ; How shall these dry limbs scatter shade, or blind My window from the sultry August beam ? " Yet see how June my faithless murmuring mocks ! Lo ! those new vigorous shoots, all fresh with leaves. Clasp with their clinging hands these dry, dead stalks, And clamber up, rejoicing, to the eaves, Till the brown skeleton is all aleaf, Fluttering and rain-fresh through its tendriled length ; And that which once was death and bitter grief. Becomes at once its glory and its strength. Fettered and cramped by no depending cares. Up their strange trellis the long garlands go. As went the angels up the shining stairs Of Jacob's vision in the long ago. When shall we learn to read this life aright? When to our souls will the sweet grace be given To make our disappointment and our blight But ladder-rounds to lift us nearer heaven ? Mrs. Elizaueth Ann [Chase] [Akers] Allen. 6o WOOING. WOOING. Sunshine over the meadows wide Where tlie bees hummed in the clover, And sunsliine filling the lily cups Till every one brimmed over. Sunshine over the hazy hills, And over the dimpling river, And I wished the sun and the summer day Might shine and last forever. We turned aside in the river path, The highway haunts forsaking, For the quiet of the willowed nooks Seemed better for our love-making. My love was silent, and I was shy. And my thoughts were each a rover, On that sweetest of all summer days That ever the sun shone over. We heard the birds in the willows green As they planned their little dwelling. And what the robin sang to his mate Was too sweet for my poor words' telling. It seemed, as we walked down the river bank, My love and I together, That at last the world was in perfect tune In the glad, bright summer weather. I can not tell what I said to her, As we came to the field of clover; HEAVEN, O LORD, I CANNOT LOSE. 6 1 I only know that the robin merrily sang His sweetest of sweet songs over. And though I know not the words she said, Nor whether she spoke at all, That day I count among summer days As the sweetest one of all. Eben Eugene Rexford. HE A VEN, O LORD, I CANNOT LOSE. Now summer finds her perfect prime ! Sweet blows the wind from western calms ; On every bower red roses climb ; The meadows sleep in mingled balms. Nor stream, nor bank the wayside by, But lilies float and daisies throng. Nor space of blue and sunny sky That is not cleft with soaring song. O flowery morns, O tuneful eves. Fly swift ! my soul ye cannot fill ! Bring the ripe fruit, the garnered sheaves, The drifting snows on plain and hill, Alike, to me, fall frosts and dews ; But Heaven, O Lord, I cannot lose ! Warm hands to-day are clasped in mine ; Fond hearts my mirth or mourning share ; And, over hope's horizon line. The future dawns, serenely fair. 62 HEAVEN, O LORD, I CANNOT LOSE. Yet still, though fervent vow ctenics, I know the rapture will not stay ; Some wind of grief or doubt will rise And turn my rosy sky to grey. I shall awake in rainy morn, To find my hearth left lone and drear ; Thus, half in sadness, half in scorn, I let my life burn on as clear Though friends grow cold or fond love woes ; But Heaven, O Lord, I cannot lose ! In golden hours the angel Peace Comes down and broods me with her wings I gain from sorrow sweet release ; I mate me with divinest things ; When shapes of guilt and gloom arise And far the radiant angel flees, My song is lost in mournful sighs, My wine of triumph left but lees. In vain for me her pinions shine, And pure, celestial days begin ; Earth's passion-flowers I still must twine, Nor braid one beauteous lily in. Ah ! is it good or ill I choose ? But Heaven, O Lord, I cannot lose ! So wait I. Every day that dies With flush and fragrance born of June, I know shall more resplendent rise Where summer needs nor sun nor moon. A SUMMER DAY BY THE SEA. 6^ And every bud, on love's low tree, Whose mocking crimson flames and falls, In fullest flower I yet shall see High blooming by the jasper walls. Nay, every sin that dims my days, And wild regrets that veil the sun, Shall fade before those dazzling rays, And my long glory be begun 1 Let the years come to bless or bruise ; Thy Heaven, O Lord, I shall not lose ! Edna Dean Proctor. A SUMMER DAY BY THE SEA. The sun is set ; and in his latest beams Yon little cloud of ashen grey and gold, Slowly upon the amber air unrolled, The falling mantle of the Prophet seems. From the dim headlands many a lighthouse gleams. The street-lamps of the ocean ; and behold, O'erhead the banners of the night unfold ; The day hath passed into the land of dreams. O summer day beside the joyous sea ! O summer day so wonderful and white. So full of gladness and so full of pain ! Forever and forever thou shalt be To some the gravestone of a dead delight. To some the landmark of a new domain. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 64 MORNING GLORY. MORNING GLORY. Earth's awake 'neath the laughing skies, After the dewy and dreamy night ; Riot of roses and babel of birds, All the world in a whirl of delight. Roses smile in their white content, Roses blush in their crimson bliss. As the vagrant breezes, wooing them, Ruffle their petals with careless kiss. Yellow butterflies flutter and float, Jeweled humming-birds glitter and glow, And scorning the ways of such idle things Bees flit busily to and fro. The mocking-bird swells his anxious throat, Trying to be ten birds in one ; And the swallow screams, and circles, and darts Into the azure to find the sun. But robin redbreast builds his nest, Singing a song of the joy to come, And the oriole trims his golden vest, Glad to be back in his last year's home. Lilies that sway on their slender stalks, Morning glories that nod to the breeze. Bloom of blossoms, and joy of birds, What in the world is better than these ? Mrs. Louise [Chandler] Moulton. JUNE.— SUMMER'S RETURN. 65 JUNE. An English wife, whose passage o'er the line That severs maid from matron leaves its trace In wiser innocence and chastened grace ; With queenly eyes, love-loyal, frank, benign, That warm unheating, and unglittering shine ; A touch of cool bright color on her face, A shape that curves part hide and part define — Figures our June, the summer's resting-place. Promise is perfected without excess ; The leaf fulfilled, the flower not overblown ; The beams of noontide in this kindly zone Bless and burn not ; half-tints of pink and pearl Shimmer from wildrose-cluster, woodbine-whorl, — The wary woods are dim for leafiness. Henry Gay Hewlett. An English Year. SUMMER'S RETURN. Once more I walk mid summer days, as one Returning to the place where first he met The face that he till death may not forget ; I know the scent of roses just begun, And how at evening and at morn the sun Falls on the places that remember yet What feet last year within their bounds were set, And what sweet things were said, and dreamt, and done : 66 A riCTURE. The sultry silence of the summer night Recalls to me the loved voice far away ; Oh, surely I shall see some early day, In places that last year with love were bright, The face of her I love and hear the low Sweet, troubled music of the voice I know, Philip Bourke Marston. A PICTURE. A DAY in June ; a scholar at his books, Whose name the world has echoed far and wide ; A tinge of sadness in a face that looks As though unsatisfied. A day in June ; a fair and girlish face, Fresh as the roses which she sits among. Bending, half listless, o'er a bit of lace, With all life's song unsung. A day in June, rich with its wealth of bloom, So full of God one scarce need look above ; Two sit together in the scholar's room, And life is only love. Her cheerful voice is music to his ear ; Touch more than magic has her gentle hand ; Her sunny, restful presence brings Heaven near ; Her love makes earth so grand. A FOUR O'CLOCK. 6/ A day in June ; the roses withered lie ; A painful stilhiess o'er the room has grown; There is no charm in earth, or air, or sky ; Tlie scholar sits alone. Mrs. Sarah [Knowles] Bolton. A FOUR O'CLOCK. Ah, happy day, refuse to go ! Hang in the heavens forever so ! Forever in mid-afternoon. Ah, happy day of happy June ! Pour out thy sunshine on the hill, The piny wood with perfume fill. And breathe across the singing sea Land-scented breezes, that shall be Sweet as the gardens that they pass, Where children tumble in the grass ! Ah, happy day, refuse to go ! Hang in the heavens forever so ! And long not for thy blushing rest In the soft bosom of the west. But bid grey evening get her back With all the stars upon her track! Forget the dark, forget the dew. The mystery of the midnight blue, And only spread thy wide warm wings While summer her enchantment flings ! 68 JUNE. All, happy clay, refuse to go ! Hang in the heavens forever so ! Forever let thy tender mist Lie like dissolving amethyst Deep in the distant dales, and shed Thy mellow glory overhead ! Yet wilt thou wander, — call the thrush, And have the wilds and waters hush To hear his passion-broken tune, Ah, happy day of happy June I Mrs. Harriet Elizabeth [Prescott] Spofford. JUNE. She needs no teaching ; no defect is hers ; She stands in all her beauty mid the trees. 'Neath the tall pines her golden sunshine stirs And shifts and trembles with each passing breeze. All the long day upon the broad green boughs Lieth the lustre of her lovely life, While too much drugged with rapture to carouse Broods her soft world of insect-being rife. So without effort or perplexing thought She comes to claim all homage as her own Clad in the richest garments Nature wrought. Melting the strongest with her magic zone. O wondrous June ! our lives should be like thee With such calm grace fulfilling destiny. Susan Louisa Higginson. SUMMER SOLSTICE. 69 SOLSTICE. In the month of June, when the world is green, When the dew beads thick on the clover spray, And the noons are rife with the scent of hay, And the brook hides under a willow screen ; When the rose is queen, in Love's demesne, Then, the time is too sweet and too light to stay: Whatever the sun and the dial say, This is the shortest day. Edith Matilda Thomas. SUMMER SOLSTICE. The daisies are nodding o'er bending grass, With bright eyes greeting me as I pass ; As offering sweets from a billowy knoll. The buttercup lifteth its golden bowl ; The feathery clouds float airily by. Flecking with silver the blue of the sky. The mead seems a sea of green waves 'neath the breeze. Lithe branches are swaying of verdure-clad trees. The clover bloom perfumes the ambient air, And, bridelike, all Nature seems blushful and fair ; The drowsy bee hums in the lily's clear bell Or lazily drifts to its hermit-like cell. Mrs. Emily [Thornton] Charles •JO THE LONGEST DA V. THE LONGEST DAY. Let us quit the leafy arbor, And the torrent murmurhig by ; For the sun is in his harbor, \\'eary of the open sky. Evening now unbinds her fetters Fashioned by the glowing light; All that breathe are thankful debtors To the harbinger of night. Yet by some grave thoughts attended Eve renews her calm career ; For the day that now is ended. Is the longest of the year. Summer ebbs ; each day that follows Is a reflux from on high, Tending to the darksome hollows Where the frosts of winter lie. He who governs the creation, In His providence, assigned Such a gradual declination To the life of human kind. Yet we mark it not ; fruits redden, Fresh flowers blow, as flowers have blown, And the heart is loth to deaden Hopes that she so long hath known. William Wordsworth. SWINGING. yi SWINGING. (PANTOUM.) Birds in the treetops were singing ; It was the middle of June ; Dolly sat dreamily swinging, Coming was somebody soon. It was the middle of June, All the green leaves were a-flicker ; Coming was somebody soon : Surely he might have come quicker ! All the green leaves were a-flicker, Hid they a glimpse of the gate ; Surely he might have come quicker ! What could have made him so late ? Hid they a glimpse of the gate, Roses, with bumble-bees humming ; What could have made him so late ? Hark ! now a footstep was coming. Roses, with bumble-bees humming ; Dolly swung on at her ease ; Hark ! now a footstep was coming. Could she be seen through the trees ? Dolly swung on at her ease. Forward and backward, half dreaming ; Could she be seen through the trees, White in the walnut boughs gleaming ? 72 SJI7XG/jVG. Forward and backward, half dreaming, Let him come find her, she said, White in the wahiut boughs gleaming: She would not call him instead ! Let him come find her, she said : Oh, she would show herself haughty ! She would not call him instead, He was so lazy and naughty. Oh, she would show herself haughty ; Oh, he should meet with his match ! He was so lazy and naughty ; Click ! went the sound of the latch. Oh, he should meet with his match ! Sudden, or ever she reckoned. Click ! went the sound of the latch. He would be there in a second ! Sudden, or ever she reckoned. Blushed she as red as a rose : He would be there in a second ! Perhaps he /lad hurried, — w^ho knows ? Blushed she as red as a rose, Looking so doubtful and pretty ; Perhaps he /lad hurried, — who knows ? To quarrel would be such a pity ! Looking so doubtful and pretty, — Speak, or allow him to pass ? IN JUNE. 73 To quarrel would be such a pity ! There was his step on the grass ! Speak, or allow him to pass ? Let him go by without stopping ? . There was his step on the grass ! Ah, how the roses were dropping ! Let him go by withotit stopping ? Up, and to meet him she flew ! Ah, how the roses were dropping ! Sweetly the summer wind blew. Up, and to meet him she flew ! Arms round his neck she was flinging ; Sweetly the summer wind blew. Birds in the treetops were singing. May Probyn. IN JUNE. The hills are far and a purple haze Lies on their crests like a cloud of smoke : The breath of the pines, these warm June days, Flows softly over the dusty ways Like smells of myrrh from a chest of oak. The pale, pink roses with golden eyes Thrust wondering faces from bush and fence, 74 ^ BALLADE OF A JV/XDY DAY. The sweet, white Indian-blossom lies Like snow in the fields, the sea replies With vagiie, deejD chants to the yearning sense. Grey birds with silver beneath the wing Fly up to the blue of the boundless sky, A red-breast robin begins to sing, An oriole (gorgeous flame-lit thing) Like a bit of sunset flashes by. In yonder meadow we catch a hint Of color in swaying clover red. While yellow buttercups bend and glint, And a silken thistle of royal tint Is nodding its plumed and lazy head, James Berry Bensel. A BALLADE OF A JV/jVDV DAY. Hither and thither the swift birds fly, (Song and a singing wherever they go !) Thither and hither across the sky The thin clouds flit ; and the sun is low. And the grass is new, and the red buds show Their sweet faint blush to the winds that stray, And the blossoms white fill the air like snow ; Sing hey ! heigho ! for a windy day. Deep in the valleys the shadows lie ; And yon, where the singing rivers flow, JUNE. 75 Where the eddies swirl and the reeds are high, Sits Pan, with a pipe at his lips to blow. And the satyrs dance with the nymphs a-row, While Pan plays on, and the world is gay ; Leaping and shouting the mad crowd go ; Sing hey ! heigho ! for a windy day. Up on the hills with a sobbing cry The treetops, nodding, toss to and fro ; Lisping, the scurrying leaves flit by, In whirling clouds to the fields below. Daffodils toss, and the roses glow ; The golden meadows in great waves sway ; June is a-flying, but none must know ; Sing hey ! heigho ! for a windy day. ENVOY. Queen, as a dream of the long ago That thrills the heart in a sweet strange way, The days are going. But let them go. Sing hey ! heigho ! for a windy day. Alanson Bigelow Houghton. JUNE. . . . June, whose beauties vie With the roses' richest shade, So sweet as to set us dreaming That a rose has grown a maid. Edgar Fawcett. 77^1? Masque of Months. 76 THE DANCE OF DEATH. THE DANCE OF DEATH. And now the old world holds high holiday And pranks herself in garments brave and gay ; June roses burst from folded buds of May ; The air is full of perfume and of blithe birds' lay. Come then, my heart, let us fare forth with these, In all this joy dull sorrow finds surcease ; My sullen lute, beneath these blooming trees And swept by fingers of the odorous breeze, Sure thy mute strings will wake to life to-day And sing to June a blithesome roundelay. From out the wood there crept a shadow still, Before it, died the sunshine off the hill ; It swept the lute, and on its icy breath Faltered a song, a song of Love and Death. O dance, ye rose-crowned hours of June, Beneath the merry sun. And dance beneath the loving moon When jocund day is done. Bright, bright, the sunshine and the moon But bitter black the shade : Beneath thy roses, blithesome June, Are there no dead men laid .-' Dim wraiths of dead and buried Junes, Sweet dreams and hearts aglow, Of brighter suns and sweeter moons Of hopes dead long ago ? JUNE LOVE SONG. 7/ O joyous June, heap high your flowers, You cannot hide the graves beneath;. Sing, birds, and dance, ye merry hours. Tread with my ghosts the Dance of Death. With one wild note of rapture or of pain The lute-strings snapped and all was still again. Mrs. Jane [Goodwin] Austin. JUNE LOVE SONG. Passing sweet with songs and roses, Day is ours until it closes. What though snow must yet be storming Airs the red rose now is warming ! What care we, such rosy weather, If we live this day together ? By the scripture of my kiss Never was a June like this ! Oh, how joy and beauty bind us To forget all ills behind us ! Though before us die as many. Thou and I care not for any. June makes heaven in scent, sound, seeing; Love makes heaven within our being. By the scripture of thy kiss, Never was a day like this ! Charlotte Fiske Bates. 78 FULL SUMMER NOW. SUMMER'S RAIN AND WINTER'S SNOIV. Summer's rain and winter's snow With the seasons come and go ; Shine and shower; Tender bud and perfect flower ; Silver blossom, golden fruit ; Song and lute, With their inward sound of pain : Winter's snow and summer's rain ; Frost and fire ; Joy beyond the heart's desire, — And our June comes round again. Richard Watson Gilder. The New Day. FULL SUMMER NOW. It is full summer now, the heart of June ; Not yet the sunburnt reapers are astir Upon the upland meadow where too soon Rich autumntime, the season's usurer, Will lend his hoarded gold to all the trees And see his treasure scattered by the wild and spend- thrift breeze. Poo soon, indeed ! yet here the daffodil, That love-child of the spring, has lingered on To vex the rose with jealousy, and still The harebell spreads her azure pavilion, A JUNE DAY. 79 And like a strayed and wandering reveler Abandoned of its brothers, whom long since June's messenger, The missel-thrush, has frighted from the glade, One pale narcissus loiters fearfully Close to a shadowy nook, where half afraid Of their own loveliness some violets lie That will not look the gold sun in the face. Oscar Wilde. The Garden of Eros. A JUNE DAY. The month is June, but all the sky is grey, And to the weary earth seems leaning low ; There is no little breath of wind to blow The searching perfume of these flowers away Which climbing round the window peer and stay ; The thrush sings, where the branches thickly grow; The day moves by, with heavy feet and slow ; " Death endeth all," the stillness seems to say. But Love shall come before Death's nuptial hour ; There sits my queen and silent, pondering what ? Sees she, as I, Love's joy-environed bower, Where sweet conspiring things one sweeter plot, Or does she hear, 'neath some grave's guardian flower, Sad sighing of dead loves remembered not ? Philip Bourke Marston. 80 THE BUMBLE-BEE. THE BUMBLE-BEE. Buzzing little t)usybody ! Happy little hayfield rover ! Don't you feel your own importance, Bustling through these wilds of clover? Don't your little wings grow weary Of this never-ceasing labor ? When the butterfly swings near you, Envy you your idle neighbor? Stay a moment, — stay and tell me ! Won't my gossip make you tarry ? Hurry home, then, honey-laden, Fast as busy wings can carry. Fare thee well, my tiny toiler, Noisy little mid-air steamer ! Thou hast taught a wholesome lesson To an idle daylight dreamer. Lying here among the blossoms. While the dusky night advances, With her shadowy battalions Driving back day's golden lances, I have dreamed of great achievements In the future's glorious hours ; But you teach me to make honey From the sweets of present flowers. Charles Henry Noyes. JUNE. 8 1 A JUNE DAY. The very spirit of summer breathes to-day, Here where I sun me in a dreamy mood, And laps the sultry leas, and seems to brood Tenderly o'er those hazed hills far away. The murmurous air, fragrant of new-mown hay. Drowses, save when martins at gleeful feud. Gleam past in undulant flight. Yon hillside wood Is drowned in sunshine, till its green looks grey, No scrap of cloud is in the still blue sky. Vaporous with heat, from which the foreground trees Stand out, each leaf cut sharp. A whetted scythe Makes rustic music for me as I lie. Glad in the mirth of distant children blithe, Drinking the season's sweetness to the lees. John Todhunter. JUNE. The season was the season of sweet June, Whose sunny hours from morning until noon Went creeping through the day with silent feet, Each with its load of pleasure, slow yet sweet ; Like the long years of blest eternity. Never to be developed. Percy Bysshe Shelley. Fiordispi)ia, 82 A QUEST. A QUEST. "Thou dear, fair Summer, where art thou? " I said, " I find thy roses brightening the tired, old world ; Thy daisy stars illumining the fields. Thy meadows stretching wide beneath the sky Send up full breaths of fragrance to the sun That woos this sweetness from the earth's deep heart. Atoms of color thou hast called to life, (We name them butterflies,) float lazily On clover swings, their drop of honey made By thee, dear queen, all ready for their need. Thy birds sing songs about thee ; would we knew Their perfect sense ! but thee we cannot find." So saying to myself, I sudden came To a still nook where oaks deep shadow made, And birches fluttered all their light, soft leaves, And sang a fairy treble to the bass Of somber pines. The grape with wayward will Had caught the shy clematis in its arms And run with her from elm to beech and back, Till green festoons a tender twilight made. Red-coated sentinels, tall lilies, stood To guard the dell's approach ; and a bright brook Brought diamonds for the dryads of the place. There, looking in each other's eyes, a girl And her true lover sat. "At last," I said, " I see the goddess Summer ; other signs But show her power : herself is found with Love ! " Mrs, Mary Frances [Barber] Butts. IN JUNE. 83 IN JUNE. Under the trees in the noontime I lie, And we whisper together, dear Nature and I. Over my head, in the wide azure arch I see the cloud army go out on a march ; Here is a straggler, and there a recruit Both clad in the white of a cloud-soldier's suit. The wind whispers softly a secret to me. It has seen thejirst rose of jfunc kissed by a bee. And I see its bright splendor flash out on the spray, A little red world that will last for a day. The lowing of cattle comes down the hills And blends with the ripple of unseen rills. And listen ! for near us the crickets hide Rehearsing a concert for eventide. The air is sweet with the scent of grass That falls in the meadows where mowers pass. There is silence here that is full of sound. I fancy the spot is enchanted ground Where never a grief nor a woe may tread, But Peace, like an angel, walks instead. Eben Eugene Rexford. 84 yi JUNE GARDEN CAROL, A JUNE GARDEN CAROL. When the pearly dewdrop dowers Musky garden slopes In the long June twilight hours, Then the primrose opes ; Sees the virgin lily's eyes, Lidded like the snow, Lift in tender wooing wise To the Jacqueminot ; Hears the sound of elfin feet Tinkling on the sward, Knows 'tis where the pixies meet, Keeping careful ward ; Smiles to find Sir Puck astride Of a spear of phlox, Marks the nimble fairies glide Round the hollyhocks ; Joys in breezes bearing balm From Hesperian isles, In the soft, cerulean calm Of the starry miles ; Thrills to hear the night birds sing In the rustling thorn, Till the tiny harebells ring, Welcoming the morn. Clinton Scollard, FIREFLIES. 85 FIREFLIES. 'Tis June, and all the lowland swamps Are rich with tufted reeds and ferns, And filmy with the vaporous damps That rise when twilight's crimson burns ; And as the deepening dusk of night Steals purpling up from vale to height, The wanton fireflies show their fitful light. Soft gleams on clover-blooms they fling. And glimmer in each shadowy dell, Or, downward, with a sudden swing Fall, as of old a Pleiad fell ; And on the fields bright gems they strow And up and down the meadow go. And through the forest wander to and fro. They store no hive nor earthy cell. They sip no honey from the rose ; By day unseen, unknown they dwell, Nor aught of their rare gift disclose ; Yet, when the night upon the swamps. Calls out the murk and misty damps. They pierce the shadows with their shining lamps. Now ye, who in life's garish light, Unseen, unknown, walk to and fro. When death shall bring a dreamless night, May ye not find your lamps aglow ? so A BALLADE OF SUMMER. God works, we know not why or how And, one day, lights, close hidden now, May blaze like gems upon an angel's brow. George Arnold. A BALLADE OF SUMMER. The air is drowsing in a swoon, Unbroke of sound, while golden rays Of sun divide the afternoon In sleepy hues and sullen haze ; Across the fields, through woody ways, A faint breeze stirs with listless feet ; The beetle drones, the rosebush sways : Methinks the summertime is sweet ! I hear the bee's low murmurous tune As from pale bloom to bright he strays ; He comes too oft but leaves too soon, No single blossom's love allays ; The brook with broken bank-weeds plays, Fallen flowers and breeze-blown blades of wheat Wee birds sing little songs of praise : Methinks the summertime is sweet ! Anon the night of leaf-lit June Brings down to many a flowery maze The cooling kisses of the moon To ease the spiteful stings of days ; OH THE MERRY LAY OF JUNE. 8/ The fields lie bathed in mellow blaze Of silver. Now I haste to greet The true love that my heart obeys : Methinks the summertime is sweet 1 ENVOY. Reader and lover, Love portrays All seasons in fair hues complete ; Love lives when gold or fame decays, And love, like summertime, is sweet ! J. S. H. Umsted. OH THE MERRY LAY OF JUNE. Hear the skylark in the cloud, Hear the cricket in the grass. Trilling blitheness clear and loud, Chirping glee to all who pass. Oh, the merry summer lay ! Earth and sky keep holiday. Hear the leaves that kiss the air, Hear the laughter of the bees : Who remembers winter care In the shining days like these ? Oh, the merry lay of June ! All our hearts are glad in tune. Mrs. Augusta [Davies] Wkpster. Disguises, 88 JUNE. JUNE'S HUSBANDRY. Wash sheep (for the better) where water doth run, And let him go cleanly, and dry in the sun : Then shear him, and spare not, at two days an end, The sooner the better, his corps will amend. If meadow be forward, be mowing of some, But mow as the makers may well overcome. Take heed to the weather, the wind and the sky. If danger approacheth, then cock apace, cry. Plow early till ten o'clock, then to thy hay, In plowing and carting, so profit ye may. By little and little thus doing ye win. That plow shall not hinder when harvest comes in. Thomas Tusser. JUNE. Were I a poet I should sing June's radiance of blossoming. Were I a queen a crown I'd wear Of her red roses on my hair. I'm but a woman, and to me June is the memory. Love, of thee. Minna Caroline Smith. A JUNE DAY. 89 EVENING PRIMROSES. While grey was the summer evening, Hast never a small sprite seen Lighting the fragrant torches For the feast of the Fairy Queen ? The buds on the primrose bushes Upspring into yellow light, But ever the wee deft spirit Escapes my bewildered sight. Yet oft, through the dusky garden, A dainty white moth will fly, Or, pink as a pink rose-petal, One lightly will waver by. Perhaps 'tis the shape he comes in, Perhaps it is he indeed, Sir Moth, or the merry Cobweb, Or the whimsical Mustard-seed ! Helen Gray Cone A JUNE DAY. Is this the June, — the jewel of the year? The dearest month of earth ? Let all the yellow morning disappear In feasting and in mirth. QO A JUNE DAY. Up from the hill gaps springs the joyful Day, She dips to field and fen ; The purple summits kindle far away : Ah, June, beloved of men ! The long fields glimmer in a foamy wake, Drenched daisies, white with dew ; Up through the wet and tangled meshes break Loose harebells, budded blue ; The high hills drink the summer sun as wine, They tingle, bough and root. From crested brink of laurel and pine To birches at the foot. The strong sun reddens high in middle skies ; The noon, the dry-lipped noon ! As forged of iron, the' stretched white highway lies . Fierce June ! Forged out of iron, tempered in the heat, The slow, bright stream runs down ; T>ry, mulleined hills, and pastures hard and sweet, All still, — as still as stone. Her level fires in vivid splendor pour : The noon, the shining noon ! The silent river glows like melted ore : Bright June ! Green-aisled and dark the leafy woodlands lie, The summits grooved and grey ; Above them stares the hot, uncurtained sky : The brazen disc of Day 1 A JUNE NIGHT. 9I Lower and lower the light is failing ; Waves of color that come and go ; Yellow and purple slowly paling, Flush of pink in the afterglow ; Booming bees forsake the clover. Day is over ! Faster and faster from hazy hollow Night is closing on field and wood ; Out of the west the late-bound swallow Hastens back to the crumpled brood ; Stately-winged, the night hawks hover. Day is over ! Forest and fallow grow dark together, A bell in the distance sounding slow ; Still the light of the rosy weather Welling up in the afterglow ; Now the starry skies discover Day is over 1 Dora Read Goodale. A JUNE NIGHT. Ten o'clock : the broken moon Hangs not yet a half hour high, Yellow as a shield of brass. In the dewy air of June, Poised between the vaulted sky And the ocean's liquid glass. 92 A JUNE N/Gl/T. Earth lies in the shadow still ; Low black bushes, trees and lawn Night's ambrosial dews absorb ; Through the foliage creeps a thrill, Whispering of yon spectral dawn And the hidden climbing orb. Higher, higher, gathering light, Veiling with a golden gauze All the trembling atmosphere, See, the rayless disk grows white ! Hark, the glittering billows pause ! Faint, far sounds possess the ear. Elves on such a night as this Spin their rings upon the grass ; On the beach the water-fay Greets her lover with a kiss ; Through the air swift spirits pass, Laugh, caress, and float away. Shut thy lids and thou shalt see Angel faces wreathed with light. Mystic forms long vanished hence. Ah, too fine, too rare they be For the grosser mortal sight, And they foil our waking sense. Yet we feel them floating near, Know that we are not alone, THE LONG DAYS. 93 Though our open eyes behold Nothing save the moon's bright sphere, In the vacant heavens shown, And the ocean's path of gold. Emma Lazarus. THE LONG DAYS. Yes ! they are here again, the long, long days. After the days of vi'inter, pinched and white ; Soon, with a thousand minstrels comes the light, Late, the sweet robin-haunted dusk delays. But the long days that bring us back the flowers, The sunshine, and the quiet-dripping rain. And all the things we knew of spring again, The long days bring us not the long-lost hours. The hours that now seem to have been each one A summer in itself, a whole life's bound, Filled full of deathless joy, — where in his round Have these forever faded from the sun ? The fret, the fever, the unrest endures. But the time flies, — oh, try, my little lad, Coming so hot and play-worn, to be glad And patient of the long hours that are yours ! William Dean Howells. 94 WHEN CLOVER BLOOMS. WHEN CLOVER BLOOMS. When clover blooms in the meadows, And the happy south winds blow ; When under the leafy shadows The singing waters flow, — Then come to me ; as you pass I shall hear your feet in the grass. And my heart shall awake and leap From its cool, dark couch of sleep, And shall thrill again, as of old, Ere its long rest under the mold. When clover blooms. Deem not that I shall not waken ; I shall know, my love, it is you ; I shall feel the tall grass shaken, I shall hear the drops of the dew That scatter before your feet ; I shall smell the perfume sweet Of the red rose that you wear, As of old in your sunny hair ; Deem not that I shall not know It is your light feet that go Mid clover blooms. O love, the years have parted — The long, long years ! — our ways ; You have gone with the merry-hearted These many and many days, TO A JUNE ROSE. 95 And I with that grim guest Who loveth the silence best. But come to me, — I shall wait For your coming, soon or late, For, soon or late, I know, You shall come to my rest below The clover blooms, James Benjamin Kenyon. TO A JUNE ROSE. (RONDEAU.) O ROYAL Rose ! the Roman dressed His feast with thee ; thy petals pressed Augustan brows ; thine odor fine Mixed with the three-times-mingled wine, Lent the long Thracian draught its zest. What marvel then, if host amd guest, By love, by song, by thee caressed. Half-trembled on the half-divine, O royal Rose ! And yet — and yet — I love thee best In our old gardens of the West, Whether about my thatch thou twine, Or hers, that brown-eyed maid of mine, Who lulls thee on her lawny breast, O royal Rose ! Henry Austin Dobson. 9^ WHAT IS SO RARE. WHAT IS SO RARE. No price is set on the lavish summer; June may be had by the poorest comer. And what is so rare as a day in June ? Then, if ever, come perfect days ; Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays : Whether we look, or w'hether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ; Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light. Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; The flush of life may well be seen Thrilling back over hills and valleys ; The cowslip startles in meadows green, The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice. And there's never a leaf or a blade too mean To be some happy creature's palace ; The little bird sits at his door in the sun, Atilt like a blossom among the leaves. And lets his illumined being o'errun With the deluge of summer it receives ; His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ; He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest : In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best ? James Russell Lowell. The Vision of Sir Laitufal. IN JUNE. 97 IN A JUNE GARDEN. There is a belt of pinks, christened quite wrong, For white, all white, and scented like the clove ; A running riband of perfumed snow, Which the hot sun is melting rapidly. Then behind the pinks, Are ostentatious marigolds that flaunt Their buxom wealth i' the sun ; tall poppy stems Almost as long as your sword, and O, with heads Plump as a gourd ; light-nodding meadow-sweet, Gracious as plume of gallant cavalier Throned on his steed ; and modest mignonette. That nowhere seen, surmised is everywhere. Alfred Austin. Savonarola. IN JUNE. 'TwAS in June's bright and glowing prime The loveliest of the summertime. The laurels were one splendid sheet Of crowded blossom everywhere ; The locusts' clustered pearl was sweet, And the tall whitewood made the air Delicious with the fragrance shed From the gold flowers all o'er it spread. Alfred Billings Street. Froutenac. 98 A NIGHT IN JUNE. A NIGHT IN JUNE. Lady ! in this night of June, Fair like thee and holy, Art thou gazing at the moon That is rising slowly ? I am gazing on her now : Something tells me, so art thou. Night hath been when thou and I Side by side were sitting. Watching o'er the moonlit sky Fleecy cloudlets flitting. Close our hands were linked then ; When will they be linked again ? What to me the starlight still, Or the moonbeams' splendor, If I do not feel the thrill Of thy fingers slender ? Summer nights in vain are clear. If thy footsteps be not near. Roses slumbering in their sheaths O'er my threshold clamber, And the honeysuckle wreathes Its translucent amber Round the gables of my home : How is it thou dost not come ? If thou camest, rose on rose From its sleep would waken ; JUNE. 99 From each flower and leaf that blows Spices would be shaken ; Floating down from star and tree, Dreamy perfumes welcome thee. I would give thee all I own, All thou hast would borrow, I from thee would keep alone Fear and doubt and sorrow. All of tender that is mine, Should most tenderly be thine. Moonlight ! into other skies, I beseech thee wander. Cruel, thus to mock mine eyes. Idle, thus to squander Love's own light on this dark spot ; For my lady cometh not ! Alfred Austin. JUNE. O June, O June, that we desired so. Wilt thou not make us happy on this day ? Across the river thy soft breezes blow Sweet with the scent of beanfields far away. Above our heads rustle the aspens grey, Calm is the sky with harmless clouds beset, No thought of storm the morning vexes yet. ICX) U'lIirPOOKWII.L. See, we have left our hopes and fears beliind To give our very hearts up unto thee ; What better place than this then could we find By this sweet stream that knows not of the sea, That guesses not the city's misery, This little stream whose hamlets scarce have names. This far-off, lonely mother of the Thames ? Here then, O June, thy kindness will we take ; And if indeed but pensive men we seem. What should we do ? thou wouldst not have us wake From out the arms of this rare happy dream. And wish to leave the murmur of the stream, The rustling boughs, the twitter of the birds, And all thy thousand peaceful happy words. William Morris. The Earthly Paradise, WHIP POOR WILL. Listen how the whippoorwill. From his song-bed veiled and dusky, Fills the night ways warm and musky With his music's throb and thrill ! 'Tis the Western nightingale. Lodged within the orchard's pale, Starting into sudden tune Mid the amorous air of June ; Lord of all the songs of night, Bird unseen, of voice outright, O JUNE, SWEET JUNE, lOI Buried in the sumptuous gloom Of his shadow-paneled room, Roofed above by webbed and woven Leaf and bloom, by moonbeams cloven, Searched by odorous zephyrs through, Dim with dusk and damp with dew : He it is that makes the night An enchantment and delight, Opening his entrancing tale Where the evening robins fail, Ending the victorious strain When the robins sing again. Obadiah Cornelius Auringer. O JUNE, SWEET JUNE. My heart within me is singing a tune. Its echo is ever, " O June, sweet June ! The sun's in the valley, the bloom on the brier ! " And lo, the dead leaves that the autumn had strewn O'er a grave, give way to the blossoms' desire. From the heart of the earth there is warbled a tune. Its cadence ever is, "June, leafy June ! Dead leaves shall crumble and vanish in fire ; But the souls that with courage and grief commune Shall never in music or flame expire ! " George Parsons Latiirop. 102 SHE WAS WON IN AN IDLE DAY. SHE WAS WON IN AN IDLE DAY. " She was won in an idle day," Won when the roses were red in June, And the world was set to a drowsy tune, Won by a lover who rode away. Summer things basked in the summer sun ; Through the roses a vagrant wind Stole their passionate hearts to find. Found them, and kissed them, and then was gone. Wooed by the June day's fervent breath, Violets opened their violet eyes. Gazed too long at the ardent skies, And swooned with the dying day to death. Nothing was earnest and nothing was true ; W^inds were wanton and flowers were frail ; And the idle lover who told his tale Warmed by the June sun through and through. Kissed her lips as the wind the rose. Kissed them for joy in the summer day. And then was ready to ride away When over the night the moon arose. The violets died with the day's last breath ; The roses slept when the wind was low ; What chanced to the butterflies who can know ? But she — oh, pity her ! — waits for death, Mrs. Louise [Chandler] Moulton. ON THE WILD ROSE TREE. IO3 THE THRUSH'S NEST. Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush, That overhung a molehill large and round, I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush Sing hymns of rapture, while I drank the sound With joy, — and oft, an unintruding guest, I watched her secret toils from day to day ; How true she warped the moss to form her nest, And modeled it within with wood and clay. And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew. There lay her shining eggs as bright as flowers, Ink-spotted over, shells of green and blue : And there I witnessed in the summer hours A brood of Nature's minstrels chirp and fly, Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky, John Clare. ON THE WILD ROSE TREE. On the wild rose tree Many buds there be, Yet each sunny hour Hath but one perfect flower. Thou who wouldst be wise Open wide thine eyes, — In each sunny hour Pluck the one perfect flower ! Richard Watson Gilder. I04 THE DROUGHT IN JUNE. AMID THE LIMES. All through the sultry hours of June, From morning blithe to golden noon, And till star of evening climbs The grey-blue east, a world too soon, There sings a thrush amid the limes. God's poet, hid in foliage green. Sings endless songs, himself unseen ; Right seldom come his silent times. Linger, ye summer hours serene ! Sing on, dear thrush, amid the limes ! Mortimer Collins. THE DROUGHT IN JUNE. The sun shot forth his fiery rays On restless seas and burning sand : No showers swept through our heated days To cheer and beautify the land. The earth was parched ; the springs were dry ; And withered were the grass and corn ; The shining crescent lit the sky, A grainless sickle, till the morn. The roads were filled with dust and heat ; The streams all weakened in their flow ; A SUDDEN SHOWER. I05 And dews refused to touch the feet Of flocks that fed in fields below. The plow was followed in the field ; The hoe was buried in the soil ; But thirsty furrows could not yield Their hidden wealth to earnest toil. The farmer scanned his fields so bare And sighed that Mercy was no more ; While Famine whined, he thought, in air, And crouched around the opened door. J. Hazard Hartzell. A SUDDEN SHOWER. The black clouds roll across the sun, Their shadows darken all the grass : The songs the sweet birds sang are done. And on wide wings the minstrels pass. There comes a sudden sheet of rain That beats the tender field-flowers down. And in the narrow fragrant lane The white road turns a muddy brown. James Berry Bensel. In the Rain. I06 ACROSS THE CRIMSON CLOVER SEAS. ACHOSS THE CRIMSON CLOVER SEAS. Across the crimson clover seas I hear the haunting hum of bees That rifled all the rich perfume From jasmine and magnolia bloom, When, with his pallid, icy bands. Chill winter bound our northern lands ; To spicy, palm-embowered isles, Where never-dying summer smiles, My spirit drifts upon the breeze Across the crimson clover seas. And where the Gulf Stream softly laves Floridian capes with foamy waves, I see the bearded cypress boughs. Like hoary hermits, lift their brows Aloft to greet a sky as clear As any placid mountain mere ; And there the merry mocking-birds Seem uttering melodious words : How soon the golden vision flees Across the crimson clover seas ! The vision fades. Ah ! well it may. For one who makes more bright the day Down greening aisles of tall grass trips, A song upon her lovely lips, As merry as the thrush above. Out-trilling tuneful lays of love ; THE EVENING COMES. 10/ And all my pulses swifter stir, And all my heart goes out to her, The while she strays in graceful ease Across the crimson clover seas. Clinton Scollard. 'THE EVENING COMES. The evening comes, the fields are still. The tinkle of the thirsty rill, Unheard all day, ascends again ; Deserted is the half-mown plain ; Silent the swaths ! the ringing wain, The mower's cry, the dog's alarms, All housed within the sleeping farms ! The business of the day is done, The last-left haymaker is gone. And from the thyme upon the height, And from the elder-blossom white And pale dog-roses in the hedge. And from the mint-plant in the sedge, In puffs of balm the night air blows The perfume which the day foregoes. And on the pure horizon far. See, pulsing with the first born star, The liquid sky above the hill ! The evening comes, the fields are still. Matthew Arnold Bacchanalia. lOS SUMMER NIGHT OiV THE HUDSON. JUNE. Lily! uplifting pearly-petaled cups, A sceptre thou, a silver-headed wand By lusty June, the lord of summer, waved To give to blade and bud his high command. Ah ! vestal-bosomed, — thou that all the Alay From maidenly reserve wouldst not depart, Till June's warm wooing won thee to display The golden secret hidden in thy heart. Without, look, June : thy pearly love is smutched. That which doth wake her gentle beauty slays. Alas that nothing lovely lasts, if touched By aught more real than a longing gaze. Edwin Arnold SUMMER NIGHT ON THE HUDSON. 'Tis the middle watch of a summer's night ; The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright ; Naught is seen in the vault on high But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky, And the flood which rolls its milky hue, A river of light on the welkin blue. The moon looks down on old Cro'nest, She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast, And seems his huge grey form to throw In a silver cone on the wave below ; THE HEART OF JUNE. IO9 His sides are broken by spots of shade, By the walnut bough and the cedar made, And through their clustering branches dark Glimmers and dies the firefly's spark Like starry twinkles that momently break Through the rifts of the gathering tempest's rack. The stars are on the moving stream, And fling, as its ripples gently flow, A burnished length of wavy beam In an eel-like, spiral line below ; The winds are whist, and the owl is still, The bat in the shelvy rock is hid, And naught is heard on the lonely hill But the crickets' chirp, and the answer shrill Of the gauze-winged katydid ; And the plaint of the wailing whippoorwill, Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings, Ever a note of wail and woe, Till morning spreads her rosy wings. And earth and sky in her glances glow. Joseph Rodman Drake. The Culprit Fay. THE HEART OF JUNE. Down in the heart of the June, my love, Down in the heart of the June ; The gold, gold sun, like a bridegroom proud, Lifts the fair sky's veil of summer cloud. no THE HEART OF JUNE. While the green, green earth laughs out aloud In the heart of the red, red June. This is the best of the world, my love, This is the best of the year ; Behind is the springtime, cold and sweet, Forward the summer's feverish heat ; Stay then, my darling, thy hurr}'ing feet. For the best of our life is here. Sip the red wine of the June, my love, Sip the red wine of the June : In May it was white as the fading snow, August's deep purple will darken its glow; Then, with lingering lip and kisses slow, Sip the red, red wine of the June. The roses, June roses, are red, my love. They hang from your lattice high. Faint was the May-blossom's gentle breath, The orange-flower will be strong unto death ; But the rose is sweet, and its sweetness saith, " There are none so lovely as I." Then live in the heart of this June, my love, Live in the heart of this June, Once we were friends, — oh cold, barren dearth ! Soon must our wedded life prove its own worth ; But now we are lovers, — gods on earth, In the heart of this red, red June. Constance Fenimore Woolson. A SUMMER IDYL. Ill A SUMMER IDYL. He. The June wind blows, and through the grass, Its laughing spirit seems to pass, And the little stream With lilies white is agleam ; And in the orchard the apple-blooms In an odorous mass Cover the place for a lover's dream : So leave these prim cool rooms For a little, dear lass ! She. I know the June wind blows, and that the grass Laughs low to hear it pass. And that the stream With lily-buds is agleam, But I doubt if the scented mass Of the tender apple-blooms Hides the place for a lover's dream ! Nor shall I leave these rooms, Who am not your lass ! He. Well, well ! I go, — for see, the sun Is burning up the noon ; The wind is hushed, and soon Morn's freshness will be done ; Soon will the roses droop. And the lilies stoop, And the larks cease one by one, 112 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. And the doves to coo, And the breeze cease being a breeze : So I go to dream my dream 'Neath the apple-trees, But she who fills my dream Will not be you ! She. Stay, stay, dear love, for I am done With household work, and soon Will spend with you the noon ; Sweet is the summer sun, Though the roses droop, And the lilies stoop, And the wild doves one by one No longer coo In the dying breeze : So let me dream my dream 'Neath the apple-trees ; Ah, there too let me dream, Dear love, with you ! William Sharp. ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. June was not over Though past the full, And the best of her roses Had yet to blow. When a man I know (But shall not discover ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. I13 Since ears are dull, And time discloses) Turned him and said with a man's true air, Half sighing a smile in a yawn, as t'were, " If I tire of your June, will she greatly care ? " Well, dear, indoors with you ! True, serene deadness Tries a man's temper. What's in the blossom June wears on her bosom ? Can it clear scores with you ? Sweetness and redness, Eadem sempe?-! Go, let me care for it greatly or slightly ! If June mend her bower now, your hand left un- sightly By plucking the roses, — my June will do rightly. And after, for pastime. If June be refulgent With flowers in completeness, All petals, no prickles, Delicious as trickles Of wine poured at mass time. And choose One indulgent To redness and sweetness : Or if, with experience of man and of spider, June use my June-lightning, the strong insect-ridder, And stop the fresh film-work, — why, June will con- sider. Robert Browning. 114 JUNE DAYS. JUNE DAYS. Wane on, delicious daj's of shower and shine, Cool, cloudy morns and noontides white and warm, And eyes that melt in azure hyaline. Wane to midsummer's long, lethean calm. For all the woods are shrill wdth stress of song, Where soft wings flutter down to new-built nests, And turbulent sweet sounds are heard day-long, As of innumerable marriage feasts. The flame of flowers is bright along the plain, The hills are dim beneath pale, brooding skies ; And, like a kiss that thrills through every vein, The warm wind, odor-laden, stirs and sighs. Murmuring like music heard afar by night From boats becalmed on star-illumined streams, Sad as the memory of a lost delight. Sweet as the voices that are heard in dreams. Wane, siren days, and break the spell that wrings The burdened breast with undefined regret, Wayward desires, and vain imaginings. The nameless longing, and the idle fret. Wane on ! ye wake the love that tempts and flies ; And where love is, thence peace departs full soon ; But, ah, how sweet love is, e'en though it dies With thy last roses, O enchantress June ! Charles Lotin Hildjieth. A SUMMER'S DAY. I r 5 A SUMMER'S DAY. Black bees on the clover-heads drowsily clinging, Where tall, feathered grasses and buttercups sway ; And all through the fields a white sprinkle of daisies, Open-eyed at the setting of day. O, the heaps of sweet roses, sweet cinnamon roses, In great crimson thickets that cover the wall ! And flocks of bright butterflies giddy to see them, And a sunny blue sky over all. Trailing boughs of the elms drooping over the hedges, Where spiders their glimmering laces have spun ; And breezes that bend the light tops of the willows And down through the meadow grass run. Silver-brown little birds sitting close in the branches, And yellow wings flashing from hillock to tree, And wide-wheeling swallows that dip to the marshes, And bobolinks crazy with glee, — So crazy, they soar through the glow of the sunset And warble their merriest notes as they fly. Nor heed how the moths hover low in the hollows And the dew gathers soft in the sky. Then a round, beaming moon o'er the blossomed hill coming, Making paler the fields and the shadows more deepj Il6 SUMMER. And througli the wide meadows a murmurous luim- ming Of insects too happy to sleep. Enchanted I sit on the bank by the willow And trill the last snatch of a rolliclving tune ; And since all this loveliness cannot be Heaven, I know in my heart it is June. Mrs. Abba [Goold] Woolson. SUMMER. O SWEET and strange what time grey morning steals Over the misty flats, and gently stirs Bee-laden limes and pendulous abeles, To brush the dew-bespangled gossamers From meadow grasses, and beneath black firs In limpid streamlets or translucent lakes To bathe amid dim heron-haunted brakes ! O sweet and sumptuous at height of noon Languid to lie on scented summer lawns, Fanned by faint breezes of the breathless June ; To watch the timorous and trooping fawns, Dappled like tenderest clouds in early dawns, Forth from their ferny covert glide to drink And cool lithe limbs beside the river's brink ! O strange and sad ere daylight disappears, To hear the creaking of the homeward wain, THE DANUBE RIVER. 11/ Drawn by its yoke of tardy-pacing steers, 'Neath honeysuckle hedge and tangled lane ; To breathe faint scent of roses on the wane By cottage doors, and watch the mellowing sky Fade into saffron hues insensibly ! John Addington Symonds. THE DANUBE RIVER. Do you recall that night in June, Upon the Danube river ? We listened to a Landler tune, We watched the moonbeams quiver. I oft since then have watched the moon, But never, Love, O never, Can I forget that night in June, Upon the Danube river. Our boat kept measure with its oar. The music rose in snatches. From peasants dancing on the shore. With boisterous songs and catches. I know not why that Landler rang Through all my soul, but never Can I forget the songs they sang Upon the Danube river. Hamilton Aide. Il8 THE yUNE CRICKET. THE FIRST CRICKET. 'Tis not midsummer quite, and yet I hear A cricket chirping low beside the sill ; The merry, warbling birds will not be still And let me muse in melancholy here. They are so gay and glad they do not fear The lonely hours when autumn's breath grows chill ; But ah, this tiny voice has power to fill This sunny time with sombre broodings drear. The roses have not reached their glory yet, Nor the fair lily donned her best array. The fuchsias droop with dewy jewels set, The sleepy poppies have not dreamed away One summer month, still I cannot forget I heard a cricket's lonesome chirp to-day. Mrs. Rosaline [Ewan] Jones. THE JUNE CRICKET. (IN MADISON SQUARE.) Tented in the short green grass. While the moon shone in the sky, A cricket, close to those who pass, Uttered the old familiar cry. Little heeded he the noise Of the crowded city street, THE JUNE CRICKET. II9 But blew his flute with strident voice Unmindful of the tramp of feet. Hundreds briskly hurry by, Listless to the song they pass ; No policeman stops his cry, Or orders him, " Keep off the grass ! " I who note the steady tune That he with such relish plays, Wonder how this note of June Came to take to city ways. Far from native haunts withdrawn, He sings the old song at my feet : The prelude of a country lawn Salutes the curious city street. Rustic scenes are not at hand ; No rippling rivulet wanders near : Hard it is to understand This voice in such an atmosphere. Brave little cricket, pipe away ; Let your blitheness melt in song ! 'Tis the cheeriest roundelay ; I shall thank you for it long. Torn from springtime, robbed of June, Shut up to the city street, Much I thank you for your tune Uttered from this strange retreat. Joel Benton. 120 TO CARNATIONS. THE WOOD THRUSH. In that soft twilight change of summer eves From rosy bloom to darkness cool and still, Sweet from some dusky haunt among the leaves Thy voice is heard by lonely field or hill, Chanting thy low, impassioned vesper hymn, Clear as the silver treble of a stream Round mossy isles in woodland valleys dim. There have I hearkened, as one in a dream Lies smiling, while some dear form bent above Taps at the muffled portals of the brain With gentle touch and murmured words of love Until the heart stirs v/ith a tender pain ; While the wrapt senses soothed in slumbrous balm Sink down still deeper in delicious calm. Charles Lotin Hildreth. TO CARNATIONS. Stay while ye will, or go, And leave no scent behind ye : Yet trust me I shall know The place where I may find ye. Within my Lucia's cheek (Whose livery ye wear) Play ye at hide and seek, I'm sure to find ye there. Robert Herrick. RAISED ARE THE DRIPFING OARS. 121 JUNE. Oh, June, thou hast too many memories ; Ghosts walk by daylight 'neath thy steadfast sun, And people thy warm darkness ; can I shun These faces of dead joys and pitiless eyes That look in mine till my pierced spirit cries " Forbear, — pass by ! " and makes its desolate moan For pity of its sorrow spent and prone ? Amid these ghosts my heart lies faint and dies : Oh, summer twilight, sad beyond all telling, Oh, nights made once for love, made now for grief! Come, winter, with thy formidable array Of frost and storms the grey cold ocean swelling ! Yet wherefore come ? Thou canst bring no relief ; Hast thou not too the memories that dismay ? Philip Bourke Marston. RAISED ARE THE DRIPPING OARS. Raised are the dripping oars, Silent the boat ! the lake, Lovely and soft as a dream, Swims in the sheen of the moon. The mountains stand at its head Clear in the pure June night. But the valleys are flooded with haze. Matthew Arnold. The Youth of Nature. 122 IN JUNE. A JUNE LILY. I SAW upon the bosom of a stream A full-blown lily tremble in the sun. The tide swept by but took not on its course The lily which still fluttered like a dove In all its beauty in the selfsame place. Ah, if the Power that kept the lily there Despite the tide that kissed its lips apart Would make the course of time flow lightly on Bearing our idols not upon its way, But passing softly by with soothing sounds Letting them linger at life's brightest spot, Like the lone lily on the crystal stream All white, all young, all pure, all beautiful. Richard Kendall Munkittrick. IN JUNE. In June 'tis good to lie beneath a tree While the blithe season comforts every sense, Steeps all the brain in rest, and heals the heart, Brimming it o'er with sweetness unawares, Fragrant and silent as that rosy snow Wherewith the pitying apple tree fills up And tenderly lines some last year's robin's nest. James Russell Lowell. Under the Willows. LONG LISTLESS SUMMER HOURS. 1 23 COME TO ME IN CHERRY TIME. Come to me in cherry time, And, as twilight closes. We will have a merry time, Here among the roses ! When the breezes crisp the tide, And the lindens quiver, In our bark we'll safely glide Down the rocky river ! When the stars, with quiet ray, All the hilltops brighten. Cherry-ripe we'll sing and play Where the cherries ripen ! Then come to me in cherry time, And, as twilight closes, We will have a merry time Here among the roses ! George Perkins Morris. LONG LISTLESS SUMMER HOURS. Long listless summer hours when the noon Being enamored of a damask rose Forgets to journey westward, till the moon, The pale usurper of its tribute, grows From a thin sickle to a silver shield And chides its loitering car. Oscar Wilde. The Garden of Eros. 124 A YELLOIV PANSY. MOONRISE IN JUNE. A MOUNTAIN pool withiii a wood far hid, (No faintest movement on its ebon glass Save where a streamlet o'er the moss cuirass Of a bluff boulder, querulously chid The arching ferns and maidenhair that bid With clinging arms, this wayward child not pass,) Lay coldly mirroring the darkling mass Of pines that rose in leafy pyramid. There came the shrilling of the katydid From where the stillness slept upon the grass, A chilling mist its veil outspread, and soon To magic beauty turning all upslid (Where none might see the wonderous sight, alas !) The full, pale glory of the silvern moon ! Charles Miner Thompson. A YELLOW PANSY. To the wall of the old green garden A butterfly quivering came ; His wings on the sombre lichens Played like a yellow flame. He looked at the grey geraniums, And the sleepy four-o'clocks ; He looked at the low lanes bordered With the glossy-growing box. IN JOYOUS JUNE. 125 He longed for the peace and the silence, And the shadows that lengthened there, And his wee wild heart was weary Of skimming the endless air. And now in the old green garden, — I know not how it came, — A single pansy is blooming. Bright as a yellow flame. And whenever a gay gust passes. It quivers as if with pain, For the butterfly-soul that is in it Longs for the winds again ! Helen Gray Cone. IN JOYOUS JUNE. It was a bright and cheerful afternoon, Towards the end of the sunny month of June, When the north wind congregates in crowds The floating mountains of the silver clouds From the horizon, and the stainless sky Opens beyond them like eternity. All things rejoiced beneath the sun, — the weeds, The river, and the cornfields, and the reeds. The willow leaves that glanced in the light breeze. And the firm foliage of the larger trees. Percy Bysshe Shelley. Slimmer and Winter. 1 26 NOONTIDE. NOONTIDE. Lo ! here amid the summer flowers, Half-dozing through the noonday hours In shadows cool and dim, I rest at ease from care and cark, With pinks and violets to mark My small horizon's rim. A truant cricket gone astray Indulges in a roundelay, A lissome-footed guest ; And then ere long I entertain Gay butterflies, a dazzling train In gold and purple drest. At Avill upon the fountain spray I watch the frolic colors play In soft, translucent bars ; Or gazing in the leafy skies I dream I see a dryad's eyes Laugh mid the jasmine stars. While from the garden's wealth of blooms A myriad spicy-winged perfumes In sweet procession pass ; And far and faint the wild bees' hum, Echoing like an elfin drum. Beats time amid the grass. Samuel Minturn Teck. A HUMMING-BIRD. 12/ ROSE SECRETS. I TELL my secrets to the rose When but a mossy bud, Before the spreading leaves disclose Their veins of scarlet blood. Fast in her bosom they shall lie Secure and hidden deep, And dewdrops from the gentle sky Shall kiss her cheeks, asleep. The balmy winds in vain shall woo And thrill the slender stem ; She holds my secrets fast and true, She will not whisper them. But when, at last, her lips shall touch Your own, beloved mine. Then shall you learn my love, — how much ! In breaths of fragrance fine. Frank Dempster Sherman. A HUMMING-BIRD. When the mild gold stars flower out, As the summer gloaming goes, A dim shape quivers about Some sweet rich heart of a rose. 128 TO JUNE. If you watch its fluttering poise, From palpitant wings will steal A hum like the eerie noise Of an elfin spinning-wheel ! And then from the shape's vague sheen, Quick lustres of blue will float, That melt in luminous green Round a glimmer of ruby throat ! But fleetly across the gloom This tremulous shape will dart, While searching for some fresh bloom, To quiver about its heart. Then you, by thoughts of it stirred, Will dreamily question them : " Is it a gem, half bird. Or is it a bird, half gem ? " Edgar Fawcett. TO JUNE. March is a trumpet flower, And April a crocus wild ; May is a harebell slender With the clear blue eyes of a child ; July is the cup of a tulip Where gold and crimson meet. SUMMER TWILIGHTS. 1 29 And August a tiger lily, Tawny with passion and heat ; But thou art the rose of the world, Precious and glowing and sweet ! Fair is the flush of the dawning Over the face of the sky ; Sweet is the tangle of music From wild birds fluttering by ; Brilliant the glow of the sunset. And graceful the bound of the deer ; Glad is the laugh of the children Ringing like joy-bells clear ; But what can compare with thy beauty, O red, red rose of the year ! Mrs. Mary Elizabeth [McGkath] Blake. SUMMER TWILIGHTS. . . . He loved the ever-deepening brown Of summer twilights on the enchanted hills; Where he might listen to the starts and thrills Of birds that sang and rustled in the trees, Or watch the footsteps of the wandering breeze And the birds' shadows as they fluttered by Or slowly wheeled across the unclouded sky. Richard Watson Gilder. The Foetus Fame. no TO AN ORIOLE. PUCK. When the last gold threads are gliding From the loom of weary day, Many a bliss for me is biding By the way. Where the mellow, brown bee dozes In the twilight naught I miss. Greeting pansies, pinks and roses With a kiss. Through a shadowland of flowers In the musky gloom I go, While the petals fall in showers Soft and low. Till Aurora's silver finger Beckons on the laggard light, With my frolic elves I linger. Then — good night. Samuel Minturn Peck. TO AN ORIOLE. How falls it, oriole, thou hast come to fly In tropic splendor through our Northern sky ? At some glad moment was it Nature's choice To dower a scrap of sunset with a voice ? BALLAD. 131 Or did some orange tulip, flaked with black, In some forgotten garden, ages back. Yearning towards Heaven until its wish was heard. Desire unspeakably to be a bird ? Edgar Fawcett. BALLAD. In the summer even While yet the dew was hoar, I went plucking purple pansies. Till my love should come to shore. The fishing lights their dances Were keeping out at sea, And come, I sung, my true love ! Come hasten home to me ! But the sea it fell a-moaning, And the white gulls rocked thereon ; And the young moon dropped from heaven, And the lights hid one by one. All silently their glances Slipped down the cruel sea, And wait ! cried the night and wind and storm. Wait, till I come to thee ! Mrs. Harriet Elizabeth [Prescott] Spofford. 132 THE DEATH OF JUNE. JUNE DREW UNTO ITS END. June drew unto its end, the hot bright days Now gat from men as much of blame as praise, As rainless still they passed, without a cloud, And growing grey at last, the barley bowed Eefore the southeast wind. William Morris. The Earthly Paradise. THE DEATH OF JUNE. June falls asleep upon her bier of flowers : In vain are dewdrops sprinkled over her ; In vain would fond winds fan her back to life. Her hours are numbered on the floral dial ; Astrasa's scales have weighed her minutes out, Poised on the zodiac ; and the Northern Crown Hangs sparkling in the zenith just at eve, To show a queen is passing. See where stands, Pausing on tiptoe, with full, flushing lips. And outstretched arms, her sister, bright July, Eager to kiss the blossoms, tliat will fade If her hot breath but touch them. June is dead. Dead, without dread or pain, her gayest wreaths Twined with her own hands for her funeral. At first she smiled upon us, garlanded With columbines and azure lupine buds ; THE DEATH OF JUNE. 1 33 But now we find a few pale roses, dropped In her last dreamy loitering through the fields, Or see her wild geraniums by the brook, Her laurels and azaleas in the woods. These gather we as keepsakes of dear June, Though not unmindful of the humbler flowers That thought it joy to bloom around her feet ; The buttercups and blue-eyed grass that peeped Under the wayside bars at travelers ; Prunella lingering in the wagon's track ; The evening primrose, glimmering like a star When the sun set ; and the prim mullein too. Folded in flannels from the eastern winds. Damp dews, and reckless songs of bobolinks. A warmer reign begins, and they must fade Beneath its splendor ; even these richer blooms, — Orchis and arethusa quaintly robed, And harebells nodding to blue skies and streams. And white pond-lilies, scarcely opening In time to catch the farewell look of June. Lucy Larcom. INDEX OF FIRST LINES. A beauty like young womanhood's . Across the crimson clover seas A bird in the boughs sang "June " . A day in June ; a scholar at his books . A flowery veil o'er the glen unfurls . A gentle breeze blows softly from the west . Ah, happy day, refuse to go . A June day, cool from recent rain All the storm has rolled away . All through the sultry hours of June . A mountain pool within a wood far hid . And now the old world holds high holiday . An English wife, whose passage o'er the line An odorous breath of drowsy noon As I lay yonder in tall grass Birds in the treetops were singing Black bees on the clover-heads drowsily clinging Buzzing little busybody Came jolly June, arrayed .... Calm the June evening was, no sign of strife Come down amongst us and men know it not Come to me in cherry time .... Dancing along the lands . Dead sienna and rusty gold Page 47 io6 31 66 II 54 67 22 26 104 124 76 65 29 50 71 "5 80 IS 56 33 123 6 16 136 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. Delicate vases of fairest hue .... Do you recall that night in June .... Down in the heart of the June, my love . Earth's awake 'neath the laughing skies Fair month of roses ! Who would sing her praise Fair pledges of a fruitful tree .... From brightening fields of ether fair disclosed Has queen-like June cast jewels on the earth Haytime's here Hear the skylark in the cloud He loved the ever-deepening brown . Hither and thither the swift birds fly . How falls it, oriole, thou hast come to fly I gazed upon the glorious sky . . , In June 'tis good to lie beneath a tree In that soft t^vilight change of summer eves In the dead barrenness of wintertime In the month of June, when the world is green In the summer even I saw upon the bosom of a stream Is this the June, — the jewel of the year . I tell my secrets to the rose . It is a summer gloaming, balmy-sweet It is full summer now, the heart of June It was a bright and cheerful afternoon June drew unto its end, the hot bright days June falls asleep upon her bier of flowers June is full of invitations sweet . June is the pearl of our New England year June's bridesman, poet o' the year June was not over 132 . 132 Title-page I 37 112 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 137 June, whose beauties vie Laden with gifts of your giving Lady I in this night of June .... Let us quit the leafy arbor Lily ! uplifting pearly-petaled cups Listen how the whippoorwill . . . Lo, all about the lofty blue are blown . Lo ! here amid the summer flowers . Long listless summer hours when the noon . March is a trumpet flower .... May's a word 'tis sweet to hear . Meadows lost in clouds of mist Mine is the Month of Roses ; yes and mine Month of my heart ! with what a growth of green My heart within me is singing a tune . Never was my life's neglected garden No price is set on the lavish summer Now is the high tide of the year Now summer finds her perfect prime O fresh, how fresh and fair O friend, your face I cannot see . Oh, hark to the brown thrush I hear how he sings Oh, June, thou hast too many memories O June, O June, that we desired so . Once more I walk mid summer days, as one O royal Rose ! the Roman dressed . On the wild rose tree Ope, folded rose O Spirit of the Spring, delay, delay O sweet and strange what time grey morning steals Passing sweet with songs and roses 138 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. Queen-moon of this enchanted summer night Rain, rain, sweet warm rain .... Raised are the dripping oars She hath looked in the Sun's, her Prince's eyes She needs no teaching ; no defect is hers " She was won in an idle day " So beautiful the day had been . Soft is the rosy flush around me . So, some tempestuous morn in early June So sweet, so sweet the roses in their blowing Stay while ye will, or go . Summer's rain and winter's snow . Sunshine over the meadows wide Sylvan splendor ! meadows' pride Ten o'clock : the broken moon . . . Tented in the short green grass . The air is drowsing in a swoon The black clouds roll across the sun The bloom is falling from the may . The daisies are nodding o'er bending grass The earliest breath of June The earth, late choked with showers . The evening comes, the fields are still The grafter's task is ended . The hills are far and a purple haze . The hollow winds begin to blow . The June wind blows, and through the grass The long day wanes, the broad fields fade ; the night The month is June, but all the sky is grey Then came the jolly Summer, being dight . Then flash the wings returning summer calls The oak's slow-opening leaf, of deepening hue There is a belt of pinks, christened quite wrong INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 139 The season was the season of sweet June . The summertime has come again The sun is set, and in his latest beams The sun shot forth his fiery rays The toad has the road, the cricket sings The very spirit of summer breathes to-day The whilom hills of grey, whose tender shades . " Thou dear, fair Summer, where art thou 1 " I said 'Tis June, and all the lowland swamps . 'Tis not midsummer quite, and yet I hear 'Tis the middle watch of a summer's night . To the wall of the old green garden 'Twas in June's bright and glowing prime . Under the trees in the noontime I lie Upon a showery night and still .... Wane on, delicious days of shower and shine Wash sheep (for the better) where water doth run Were I a poet I should sing What garden but glows . When clover blooms in the meadows When the brow of June is crowned by the rose When the last gold threads are gliding When the mild gold stars flower out When the pearly dewdrop dowers While grey was the summer evening , Wild rustic cousins of the dainty rose Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush Yes 1 they are here again, the long, long days Page 81 16 104 52 81 27 82 85 118 108 124 97 83 49 114 14 94 45 130 127 84 89 24 103 93 INDEX OF SUBJECTS. Page Across the Crimson Clover Seas 106 A Four O'clock 67 A June Day 79, 8 r, 89 A June Lily 122 A June Night 91 Amid the Limes 104 Another Way of Love 112 A Picture 66 A Quest 82 A Sudden Shower 105 A Summer Idyl 11 1 A Summer's Day 115 A Yellow Pansy 124 Ballad 131 Ballade of a Windy Day, A 74 Ballade of Summer, A 86 Birds in Early June, The 3 Boating 22 Bumble-Bee 50 Clover 24 Come to me in Cherry Time 123 Death of June, The 132 Delay 4 Departure of the Cuckoo, The 5 142 INDEX OF SUBJECTS. Pack Dream of the South Winds in June, A . . . -41 Drought in June, The 104 Earliest Breath of June, The . . . . . .26 Evening Primroses 89 Fireflies 85 Full Summer Now 78 Haytime 13 Heaven, O Lord, I cannot Lose 61 Here 11 Humming-Bird, A 127 In June 14, 39, 73, '^i, 97, 122 In a June Garden 97 In Joyous June 125 In the Clover 57 In the Summertime 36 June I, 3, 15, 20, 29, 32, 38, 43, 51, 65, 68, 75, 81, 88, 99, 108, 121 June, A Day in 33 June, A Night in 56, 98 June Days 27, 114 June Drew unto its End 132 June Evening, A 54 June Garden Carol, A 84 June Harmony, A 31 June Longings 48 June Love Song 77 June's Husbandry 88 Joy Month 8 Long, Listless Summer Hours 123 Love in Summertime 35 INDEX OF SUBJECTS. 1 43 Pagb Morning Glories 44 Morning Glory 64 Moonrise in June 124 Noontide 126 Now is the High Tide of the Year .... 43 Oh the Merry Lay of June 87 O June, Sweet June loi On the Bridge 26 On the Edge of the Marsh 16 On the Wild Rose Tree 103 Ope, Folded Rose 6 Oriole, To an 130 Out of Doors in June Title-page Puck 130 Raised are the Dripping Oars 121 Rose Secrets 127 Rose Song 33 She was Won in an Idle Day 102 Signs of Rain 17 Solstice 69 Song of the Gloaming 52 Song of Summer, A 34 Summer 2,6,16,30,46,116 Summer Comes 4 Summer Day by the Sea, A ..... . 63 Summer Moon, A 53 Summer Night on the Hudson 108 Summer Rain 21 Summer's Return 65 Summer Solstice 69 Summer Twilights 129 144 INDEX OF SUBJECTS. Pagb Summer Twilight, A 56 Summer's Rain and Winter's Snow .... 78 Sweet June Night, The 55 Swinging 71 The Bobolink 37 The Bumble-Bee 80 The Dance of Death 76 The Dandelions 49 The Danube River 117 The Dying Sycamores 47 The Evening Comes 107 The First Cricket 118 The Grafter's Task is Ended 15 The Heart of June 109 The June Cricket 118 The Long Days 93 The Longest Day 70 The Thrush's Nest 103 The Wood Thrush . . . . . . . .120 To a June Rose 95 To Blossoms 19 To Carnations 120 To June 9, 128 Tulip Tree in Blossom, The 12 Villanelle 45 Vine Life 58 What Garden but Glows 14 What is so Rare 96 When Clover Blooms 94 Whippoorwill 100 Wooing 60 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. RtCJ JAN 24 1991 Form L9-75m-7, '61 (0143784)444 I L 009 485 469 2 PN 6iic S5A3 ^