JUNE. 



"Frank-hearted hostess of the field and wood, 



Gipsy, whose roof is every spreading tree, 



June is the pearl of our New England year, 



Still a surprisal, though expected long, 



Her coming startles. Long she lies in wait, 



Makes many a feint, peeps forth, draws coyly back, 



Then, from some southern ambush in the sky, 



With one great gush of blossoms storms the world. 



A week ago the Sparrow was divine; 



The Bluebird, shifting his light load of song 



From post to post along the cheerless fence, 



Was as a rhymer ere the poet came ; 



But now, O rapture! sunshine winged and voiced, 



Pipe blown through by the warm, wild breath of the West, 



Shepherding his soft droves of fleecy cloud, - 



Gladness of woods, skies, waters, all in one, 



The Bobolink has come, and, like the soul 



Of the sweet season vocal in a bird, 



Gurgles in ecstasy we know not what 



Save June! Dear June! Now God be praised Jor June. 



— LOWELL. 



