August

O mellow month and merry month, Let me make love to you, And follow you around the world As knights their ladies do. I thought your sisters beautiful, Both May and April, too, But April she had rainy eyes, And May had eyes of blue.

And June--I liked the singing Of her lips--and liked her smile-- But all her songs were promises Of something, after while; And July's face--the lights and shades That may not long beguile With alterations o'er the wheat The dreamer at the stile.

But you!--ah, you are tropical, Your beauty is so rare; Your eyes are clearer, deeper eyes Than any, anywhere; Mysterious, imperious, Deliriously fair, O listless Andalusian maid, With bangles in your hair!