JUNE 



flower-land, the fertile vale, June meadow hay. Blue 

 smoke coils up from the half-timbered 

 thatched cottage, into the tall elm 

 trees; there in the haunts I know 

 well are the flowers of my child- 



! 



hood, nay more of my own blood 

 they seem, for they have grown 

 into my heart and life : I love 

 them more, far more than all the 

 gems in yonder lands, because 

 they are my own, my very own, 

 and speak to me. 



COWSLIP BALL 



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