XV 



JUNE DAYS 



June brings skies of purest blue, 

 flecked with drifts of silver, fields and 

 woods in the flush of fresh verdure, with 

 the streams winding among them in 

 crystal loops that invite the angler with 

 promise of more than fish, something 

 that tackle cannot lure nor creel hold. 



The air is full of the perfume of locust 

 and grape bloom, the spicy odor of pine 

 and fir, and of pleasant voices — the 

 subdued murmur of the brook's chang- 

 ing babble, the hum of bees, the stir of 

 the breeze, the songs of birds. Out of 

 the shady aisles of the woods come the 

 flute note of the hermit thrush, the sil- 

 very chime of the tawny thrush ; and 

 from the forest border, where the lithe 

 birches swing their shadows to and fro 

 along the bounds of wood and field, 

 comes that voice of June, the cuckoo's 

 gurgling note of preparation, and then 



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