JUNE DAYS 



But saddest of all is the case of such 

 as hear not, or, hearing, heed not the 

 voice of the Kukushna, the voices of the 

 birds, the murmurous droning of bees 

 amid the blossoms, the sweet prattle 

 of running waters and dancing waves. 

 Though these come to them from all 

 about, and all about them are unfolded 

 the manifold beauties of this joyous 

 month, no sign is made to them. Their 

 dull ears hear not the voices of nature, 

 neither do their dim eyes see the won- 

 drous miracle of spring which has been 

 wrought all about them. Like the man 

 with the muck-rake, they toil on, intent 

 only upon the filth and litter at their 

 feet. Sad indeed must it be to have 

 a soul so poor that it responds to no 

 caress of nature, sadder than any impo- 

 sition of servitude or exile which yet 

 hinders not one's soul from arising with 

 intense longing for the wild world of 

 woods and waters when Kukushna sounds 

 his soft trumpet call. 

 65 



