Classic Poem

[J UNE .]

Lie thou there, black pack of care,
I have carried full months nine!
Let me seek the greenwood fair
While the summer's glory's mine.

Far from me the miser's lot —
Beadle of a golden shrine —
Whilst, by nature's toil begot,
All the summer's wealth is mine.

In the masquerade of flowers
Let the Cedar, Larch, and Pine,
Mourn stern winter's vanished towers,
So the summer's joy be mine.

Ninety times the sun shall rise
Earlier from his couch of brine,
And shall linger in the skies
While the summer's bliss is mine.

By the stream, as when a child,
Shrinking from the snake-like vine,
I will wander, thrush-beguiled,
While the summer's glory's mine.

Sunbeams jewelling the showers
Which the knotted clouds untwine
Over thirsty fields and bowers,
Are the summer's gems and mine.

Strolling through its paths of bliss
Skirted by the jessamine,
I will sing and dance and kiss
While the summer's glory's mine;

Till the grapes the robins spare
Shall redeem their pledge in wine,
Let me glean the treasures rare
Of the summer's sparkling mine.