Classic Poem

Ah ! who is she that comes along the lawn,
Attended by the music of the dawn?
What goddess this, with bramble-roses crowned,
While all around,
A thousand airy warblings fill the bowers
With notes of jubilee?
What Vision on the mountains blue,
Her ankles dashed with morning dew,
Brushed from the half-awakened flowers,
And her streaming ringlets brown,
About her naked shoulders blown,
By the sea wind wantonly?
Ah, June!
Capricious man may peevishly impugn
The raw, rough March, or April's doubtful days,
Or even May, which in our northern clime,
Is merry only in some poet's rhyme,
But thou dost touch him with desire of praise!
For now the fragrant leas
Buzz with industrious bees,
Blown up and down in odorous gales,
Loaden with honey-dew:
And April lambs improve in pastures new;
And from the festal vales,
In romping bands the village children come,
With sun-browned faces, aprons full of bloom,
And bonnets trimmed with bud and vine,
Singing such frolic ditties that the kine,
Sunning their brindled sides in cowslip beds,
Rise lazily and turn their heads,
With the soul of brute surprise
Looking out of their large eyes!
Imperial, passionate June!
Thou comest not too soon,
But waitest, beautiful and calm,
Until the gusts that rent the skies of May,
Sink into gales of balm,
And like departing music fade away!
Then, like a conquering queen,
Self-centered and serene,
Fair as a maiden in her bridal flowers,
Thou movest through the woodland bowers,
Smiling sunshine, singing consolation,
Awaking a response of exultation!
With what a well-contented note
The pigeon coos about his cote!
What flamy flushes streak thy golden morns!
What sunny comfort warms they mellow noon!
What pearly lustre gilds the shining horns,
Of thy resplendent moon —
Dear June! delightful June!