June

Lightsome, laughter-loving June, Days that swoon In beds of flowers; Twilights dipped in rose perfume, Nights of gloom Washed clear by showers. Suns that softly sink to rest In the west, All purple barred; And a faint night-wind that sighs Under skies Still, silver-starred. Languorous breaths of meadow land Overspanned By clouds like snow; And a shouting from the brooks, Where in nooks Late violets grow. June, ah, June, to lie and dream By the stream, And in the maze Of thy spells never to heed— How they speed, Thy witching days; Watching where the shadows pass. And the grass All rustling bends, While the bees fly east and west, On a quest That never ends. Thus to shun the whirl of life, Freed from strife And freed from care— Hear, as when a lad I heard How the bird Sings, high in air. June, to hear beneath the skies Lullabies That night airs blow; Ah, to find upon thy breast That pure rest I used to know!