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.’