Classic Poem

May moves in her own perfume as she trips
Across the fields, and with her footstep prints
The soft green page with flowers of bashful tints.
June in the color fount more deeply dips,
And paints his red on rose trees till it drips!
May's pink upon a breast of whiteness glints,
She teases us with promises and hints.
June puts the berry red between the lips.

At last they meet! One balmy soft midnight
May yields to June the scepter of her power,
Drops her sweet mystery and sweeter glows.
Ah, who can guess what secret vows they plight
To speed the year when May yields up her dower
Of blushing buds to June's unfolding rose!