A DAY IN JUNE 



A DAY in June, a perfect day and yet I was sad- 

 unfettered Hell was loosed men played with death 

 sad news had filled the land, and so must it ever 

 be when we usurp the Power of God and thwart in 

 war His Will of Peace. 



Out from the crest of the sun-kissed wooded hill I 

 looked, and all around lay stretched in greenest green 

 the wealth of leafy June, sun-bathed in perfect 

 peace, no strife to mar the rest, no jarring 

 note to mingle with the breeze that silver- 

 waved the meadow grass and set the leaves 

 a-dancing. 



Around my feet was spread in deep 

 rich yellow hue the bird's-foot trefoil, its 

 brilliant buds just points of fire, and the 

 lazy small heath butterfly flopped carelessly 

 among the frail blooms of the pale chrome rock 

 rose. 



I watched the grizzled skipper flit by on 

 hurried errand bent, the tireless swift with its 



113 



SMALL HEATH 



BUTTERFLY 

 ON ROCK ROSE 



B. i 



