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July Poems

Table of Contents

  1. July by Annette Wynne
  2. July by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
  3. July by Madison Cawein
  4. July by Rebecca Hey

  1. July

    by Annette Wynne

    July's for Independence Day,
    For flags and speeches and for play,
    For hiding deep in meadow grass
    And watching flying creatures pass,
    For sailing boats on little seas,
    Where just the smallest summer breeze
    Can blow; for picking flowers any day;
    July comes for flags and play.

  2. July

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    I am for the open meadows,
    Open meadows full of sun,
    Where the hot bee hugs the clover,
    The hot breezes drop and run.

    I am for the uncut hayfields
    Open to the cloudless blue,—
    For the wide unshadowed acres
    Where the summer's pomps renew;

    Where the grass-tops gather purple,
    Where the oxeye daisies thrive,
    And the mendicants of summer
    Laugh to feel themselves alive;

    Where the hot scent steams and quivers,
    Where the hot saps thrill and stir,
    Where in leaf-cells' green pavilions
    Quaint artificers confer;

    Where the bobolinks are merry,
    Where the beetles bask and gleam,
    Where above the powdered blossoms
    Powdered moth-wings poise and dream;

    Where the bead-eyed mice adventure
    In the grass-roots green and dun.
    Life is good and love is eager
    In the playground of the sun!

  3. July

    by Madison Cawein

    Now 'tis the time when, tall,
    The long blue torches of the bellflower gleam
    Among the trees; and, by the wooded stream,
    In many a fragrant ball,
    Blooms of the button-bush fall.

    Let us go forth and seek
    Woods where the wild plums redden and the beech
    Plumps its packed burs; and, swelling, just in reach,
    The pawpaw, emerald sleek,
    Ripens along the creek.

    Now 'tis the time when ways
    Of glimmering green flaunt white the misty plumes
    Of the black-cohosh; and through bramble glooms,
    A blur of orange rays,
    The butterfly-blossoms blaze.

    Let us go forth and hear
    The spiral music that the locusts beat,
    And that small spray of sound, so grassy sweet,
    Dear to a country ear,
    The cricket's summer cheer.

    Now golden celandine
    Is hairy hung with silvery sacks of seeds,
    And bugled o'er with freckled gold, like beads,
    Beneath the fox-grape vine,
    The jewel-weed's blossoms shine.

    Let us go forth and see
    The dragon— and the butterfly, like gems,
    Spangling the sunbeams; and the clover stems,
    Weighed down by many a bee,
    Nodding mellifluously.

    Now morns are full of song;
    The catbird and the redbird and the jay
    Upon the hilltops rouse the rosy day,
    Who, dewy, blithe, and strong,
    Lures their wild wings along.

    Now noons are full of dreams;
    The clouds of heaven and the wandering breeze
    Follow a vision; and the flowers and trees,
    The hills and fields and streams,
    Are lapped in mystic gleams.

    The nights are full of love;
    The stars and moon take up the golden tale
    Of the sunk sun, and passionate and pale,
    Mixing their fires above,
    Grow eloquent thereof.

    Such days are like a sigh
    That beauty heaves from a full heart of bliss:
    Such nights are like the sweetness of a kiss
    On lips that half deny,
    The warm lips of July.

  4. July

    by Rebecca Hey

    Gone are Spring's graces! mute her melodies!
    Yet in their place what Summer can bestow,
    Freely she yields; she tunes the river's flow
    To gentlest music,—fills with sweets the breeze,—
    Gives the last flush of leafage to the trees,—
    Flowers to Earth's nursing bosom,—to the sky
    Brightness oppressive from intensity,—
    And calms, with halcyon wing, the azure seas.
    Such are her spells!—yet I look back on Spring
    (As middle age delights on youth to pore)
    With feelings mournful, but unmurmuring.
    I ever loved the bud more than the flower
    And hope than full enjoyment: thence I cling
    Alike to life's and nature's budding hour.