JULY

Blue July, bright July,

Month of storms and gorgeous blue;

Violet lightnings o'er thy sky,

Heavy falls of drenching dew;

Summer crown! o'er glen and glade

Shrinking hyacinths in their shade;

I welcome thee with all thy pride,

I love thee like an Eastern bride.

Though all the singing days are done

As in those climes that clasp the sun;

Though the cuckoo in his throat

Leaves to the dove his last twin note;

Come to me with thy lustrous eye,

Golden-dawning oriently,

Come with all thy shining blooms,

Thy rich red rose and rolling glooms.

Though the cuckoo doth but sing‘ cuk, cuk,’

And the dove alone doth coo;

Though the cushat spins her coo-r-roo, r-r-roo -

To the cuckoo's halting‘ cuk.’

Sweet July, warm July!

Month when mosses near the stream,

Soft green mosses thick and shy,

Are a rapture and a dream.

Summer Queen! whose foot the fern

Fades beneath while chestnuts burn;

I welcome thee with thy fierce love,

Gloom below and gleam above.

Though all the forest trees hang dumb,

With dense leafiness o'ercome;

Though the nightingale and thrush,

Pipe not from the bough or bush;

Come to me with thy lustrous eye,

Azure-melting westerly,

The raptures of thy face unfold,

And welcome in thy robes of gold!

Tho’ the nightingale broods —‘ sweet-chuck-sweet’ -

And the ouzel flutes so chill,

Tho’ the throstle gives but one shrilly trill

To the nightingale's‘ sweet-sweet.’