June

Lightsome, laughter-loving June,Days that swoonIn beds of flowers;Twilights dipped in rose perfume,Nights of gloomWashed clear by showers.Suns that softly sink to restIn the west,All purple barred;And a faint night-wind that sighsUnder skiesStill, silver-starred.Languorous breaths of meadow landOverspannedBy clouds like snow;And a shouting from the brooks,Where in nooksLate violets grow.June, ah, June, to lie and dreamBy the stream,And in the mazeOf thy spells never to heed—How they speed,Thy witching days;Watching where the shadows pass.And the grassAll rustling bends,While the bees fly east and west,On a questThat never ends.Thus to shun the whirl of life,Freed from strifeAnd freed from care—Hear, as when a lad I heardHow the birdSings, high in air.June, to hear beneath the skiesLullabiesThat night airs blow;Ah, to find upon thy breastThat pure restI used to know!