O mellow month and merry month,
Let me make love to you,
And follow you around the world
As knights their ladies do.
I thought your sisters beautiful,
Both May and April, too,
But April she had rainy eyes,
And May had eyes of blue.
And June — I liked the singing
Of her lips — and liked her smile —
But all her songs were promises
Of something, after while;
And July's face — the lights and shades
That may not long beguile
With alterations o'er the wheat
The dreamer at the stile.
But you!— ah, you are tropical,
Your beauty is so rare;
Your eyes are clearer, deeper eyes
Than any, anywhere;
Mysterious, imperious,
Deliriously fair,
O listless Andalusian maid,
With bangles in your hair!