JULY.
153
The sleepy whip-poor-will pours forth
His melancholy song,
So like the wailing, sorrowing note
Of some immortal wrong;
And on the shingly shore the waves
Make music sad and low,
As they toss up their foamy wreaths,
White as the drifted snow.
His melancholy song,
So like the wailing, sorrowing note
Of some immortal wrong;
And on the shingly shore the waves
Make music sad and low,
As they toss up their foamy wreaths,
White as the drifted snow.
Oh, June! rare month of love and hope!
Sweet time of birds and flowers,
Of golden hushes, royal calms,
And long, bright, sunny hours!
Methinks at this full flush of life
Grand instincts spring to birth,
And that in June sweet heaven seems
A little nearer earth.
Sweet time of birds and flowers,
Of golden hushes, royal calms,
And long, bright, sunny hours!
Methinks at this full flush of life
Grand instincts spring to birth,
And that in June sweet heaven seems
A little nearer earth.
JULY.
Clad in her robes of green and gold
And royal purple, fold on fold,
Midsummer's gracious Queen
Enters her kingdom, blossom-crowned,
And sheds her peerless grace around
With majesty serene.
And royal purple, fold on fold,
Midsummer's gracious Queen
Enters her kingdom, blossom-crowned,
And sheds her peerless grace around
With majesty serene.
She brings a wealth of deep-blue skies,
Hot sunsets flushed with scarlet dyes
And sweet with airs of balm.
Hot sunsets flushed with scarlet dyes
And sweet with airs of balm.
