Wanton June

I knew she would come! Sarcastic November Laughed cold and glum On the last red ember Of forest leaves. He was laughing, the scorner, At me forlorner Than any that grieves-- Because I asked him if June would come!

But I knew she would come When snow-hearted winter Gripped river and loam, And the wind sped flinter On icy heel, I was chafing my sorrow And yearning to borrow A hope that would steal Across the hours--till June should come.

And now she is here-- The wanton!--I follow Her steps, ever near, To the shade of the hollow Where violets blow: And chide her for leaving, Tho' half believing She taunted me so, To make her abided return more dear.