Poems (Allen)/June
For works with similar titles, see June.
EVER was my life's neglected 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.
JUNE.
EVER was my life's neglected 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 heavy 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!
O the joy, the luxury, 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!