JUNE.

Throw open wide your golden gates,

O poet-landed month of June,

And waft me, on your spicy breath,

The melody of birds in tune.

O fairest palace of the three,

Wherein Queen Summer holdeth sway,

I gaze upon your leafy courts

From out the vestibule of May.

I fain would tread your garden walks,

Or in your shady bowers recline;

Then open wide your golden gates,

And make them mine, and make them mine.