Poems (Howard)/July
For works with similar titles, see July.
July.
The poets all their lyres attuneTo sing of leafy, golden June When Nature dons her gala dress, And crowns the earth with loveliness; But, sweltering with fervent heat That in July is hard to beat,They all with one accord deny There 's any beauty in July.
Why, in July the world's aglow With richer tints, a grander show Than ever yet awoke their praise For June's entrancing, radiant days! For flower, and leaf, and everything Reflects the promise of the Spring, And June's incipient plan and thought July has to perfection wrought.
The bright mid-day of all the year—Its radiator—now is here, Arrayed in hues of deepest dyes; Oh, for the power to crystallize Into an icicle, and cling—A humid, pensile, cooling thing—To some old roof-tree while July, In burning splendor, passes by!