Another Way Of Love

I.

   June was not over

     Though past the fall,

   And the best of her roses

     Had yet to blow,

     When a man I know

   (But shall not discover,

     Since ears are dull,

   And time discloses)

Turned him and said with a man's true air,

Half sighing a smile in a yawn, as 'twere,—-

``If I tire of your June, will she greatly care?''

II.

   Well, dear, in-doors with you!

     True! serene deadness

   Tries a man's temper.

     What's in the blossom

     June wears on her bosom?

   Can it clear scores with you?

     Sweetness and redness.

Eadem semper!

Go, let me care for it greatly or slightly!

If June mend her bower now, your hand left unsightly

By plucking the roses,—-my June will do rightly.

III.

   And after, for pastime,

     If June be refulgent

   With flowers in completeness,

     All petals, no prickles,

     Delicious as trickles

   Of wine poured at mass-time,—-

     And choose One indulgent

   To redness and sweetness:

Or if, with experience of man and of spider,

June use my June-lightning, the strong insect-ridder,

And stop the fresh film-work,—-why

, June will consider.