THE GOLDHAMMER 



June is the month of love, of a truth. 

 If « red is the colour of love and youth ! » 

 Strawberries glow in the burning noon. 

 And roses are red in the garden, in June. 



Sunsets are red in the skies at night; 

 Clover in meadows is crimson bright ; 

 Poppies also, like flames are seen, 

 Set ill the wheat, so cool and green. 



Pinks are red in the garden neat ; 

 Cherries in orchards are red and sweet; 

 And there in the orchard, a thief is fed, 

 On ripe sweet cherries, both white and red. 



Clear in the hush of the noontide heat. 



The song of the goldhammer rises sweet. 



A thankless churl must the farmer be, 



Who '11 grudge hiiu a meal from (he cherry-tree 



