Sweet month of June!
We would not have thee pass away too soon.
Thy long bright days are filled with pure delight,
And full of beauty every star-lit night.
Thy coming makes Spring's miracle complete
And perfect now, amid the Summer heat.
Field, forest, valley, hill, in splendor lie,
Beneath the glowing azure of thy sky.
The whole green earth is crowned with joy to-day,
Creation's myriad voices bid thee stay.
Go not too soon!
Thy balmy air
Is redolent of roses; beauty fills
The whole bright circle of the Summer hills;
The universe is like a harp that thrills
To touch of but one master; thou art he,
And the whole earth makes mighty jubilee.
Ten thousand voices, through the long months still,
Before thy advent, waken at thy will;
Now the grand chorus rises, night and day,
All pulses bound with life beneath thy sway;
All creatures strive to make amends, this hour,
For months of silence with their utmost power;
This all their care.
Who would not stay
Amid such loveliness as thine, oh, June?
The magic glory of thy splendid noon
Is all too brief, and fades its light too soon.
Who would not linger gazing on the scene?
The Earth is decked in bridal robes of green;
Her bridegroom is the Sun; his loving glance
Must all the beauty of her charms enhance;
And Nature hails the nuptial rites with glee.
Her children's voices sound a jubilee
The livelong day.
In the calm night,
The silent dews of heaven in peace distill;
Each tender blade of grass absorbs its fill,
Each is refreshed, in valley or on hill.
The gentle breezes stir the heated air,
And on their wings the scent of flowers bear—
Where harvests rich and glad and golden grow,
Make the wheat bend and rustle as they blow.
The night promotes abundance in its way,
It has its share in all, as well as day
With sunbeams bright.
Bid care begone!
When earth is bright with flowers, when roses bloom,
When floats on every breeze their soft perfume,
It is no time for sadness or for gloom.
When the whole universe is bathed in light,
Shall human hearts be clothed in shades of night?
When valley, hill-top, grove, with music ring,
Shall man, perverse, alone refuse to sing?
Shall doubt or gloom within his bosom dwell,
When lower creatures one glad chorus swell,
From dawn to dawn?
Day unto day,
And night to night repeat the tender strain,
Ten-million throats take up the glad refrain,
And tell the wondrous story o'er again,
With endless repetition. Fruitful fields
Repeat it, in the plenty each one yields.
The orchard and the grove are gay with song,
All day; at night, the echoes linger long.
The mountains, clothed in grandeur, all rejoice,
The hills and vales awake and find a voice,
Beneath thy sway.
Glad month of June!
Thy days are bright with early Summer's light,
And witching beauty fills each star-lit night.
A thousand glories burst upon the sight,
Of those who wait and watch thy coming bright.
The miracle of Spring complete they see;
Thy advent fills the earth with melody.
The Schuylkill sweeps in flashing splendor by;
Beneath the wondrous glory of thy sky,
River and landscape, both in beauty lie.
We love the soft light of thy glowing noon,
We would not have thee pass, oh, blessed June!
Away too soon.