Riley Farm-Rhymes

JUNE

     O queenly month of indolent repose!
         I drink thy breath in sips of rare perfume,
       As in thy downy lap of clover-bloom
     I nestle like a drowsy child and doze
     The lazy hours away. The zephyr throws
       The shifting shuttle of the Summer's loom
       And weaves a damask-work of gleam and gloom
     Before thy listless feet. The lily blows
       A bugle-call of fragrance o'er the glade;
         And, wheeling into ranks, with plume and spear,
       Thy harvest-armies gather on parade;
         While, faint and far away, yet pure and clear,
       A voice calls out of alien lands of shade:—
         All hail the Peerless Goddess of the Year!