Classic Poem

I

While feet in the fairy fern —
Quick wings in a chrysolite sky —
And an amethyst lamp in the west to burn,
When the cool dusk hours for which lovers yearn
Pass in sweet silence by:
Over summer seas
Thou bringest these
Hither, July.

II

Stern hours have the merciless Fates
Plotted for all who die:
But looking down upon Richmond's aits,
Where the merles sing low to their amorous mates,
Who cares to ask them why?
We'll have wit, love, wine,
Ere thy days divine
Wither, July

III

For the blossom of youth must fade,
And the vigour of life must fly:
Yet to-day is ours with its odorous shade,
And the loving eyes which soon betrayed
Dreams in the heart that lie.
Swift life's stream flows,
But alas! who knows
Whither, July?