Poems (Jackson)/June
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For works with similar titles, see June.
JUNE.
MONTH whose promise and fulfilment blend,And burst in one! it seems the earth can storeIn all her roomy house no treasure more;Of all her wealth no farthing have to spendOn fruit, when once this stintless flowering end. And yet no tiniest flower shall fall beforeIt hath made ready at its hidden coreIts tithe of seed, which we may count and tendTill harvest. Joy of blossomed love, for theeSeems it no fairer thing can yet have birth?No room is left for deeper ecstasy?Watch well if seeds grow strong, to scatter freeGerms for thy future summers on the earth.A joy which is but joy soon comes to dearth.