Poems (Trask)/June
For works with similar titles, see June.
JUNE.
A radiant wealth of golden stills, A tender azure sky, A wind whose touch is sweet and soft As breaths of Araby; Nights luminous with twinkling stars,— Heaven's lamps of crystal bright,—While over all the moon pours down Her flood of silver light.
The clover-blooms on meadow-lands Scent all the ambient air, And crimson roses lavish forth Their odors sweetly rare; The 'chestnut-trees droop heavily With weight of verdant leaves, And through the cool shade of their boughs The west wind's spirit breathes.
A white mist shrouds the distant lake In a soft, fleecy veil, And hides the lilies floating there, The lilies pure and pale; The crickets chant beneath the grass A lonesome, weird refrain, Like the slow beating on the turf Of the autumnal rain.
The sleepy whip-poor-will pours forth His melancholy song, So like the wailing, sorrowing note Of some immortal wrong; And on the shingly shore the waves Make music sad and low, As they toss up their foamy wreaths, White as the drifted snow.
Oh, June! rare month of love and hope! Sweet time of birds and flowers, Of golden hushes, royal calms, And long, bright, sunny hours! Methinks at this full flush of life Grand instincts spring to birth, And that in June sweet heaven seems A little nearer earth.