348
A DARK MONTH.
Best, in all this playtime,
Best of all in tune,
Girls more glad than Maytime,
Boys more bright than June;
Mixed with all those dances,
Far through field and street
Sing their silent glances,
Ring their radiant feet.
Flowers wherewith May crowned us
Fall ere June be crowned:
Children blossom round us
All the whole year round.
Is the garland worthless
For one rose the less,
And the feast made mirthless?
Love, at least, says yes.
Strange it were, with many
Stars enkindling air,
Should but one find any
Welcome: strange it were,
Had one star alone won
Praise for light from far:
Nay, love needs his own one
Bright particular star.
