Page:Poems Cook.djvu/366

the song of june.

Oh! come with me, whoever ye be,
 Come from the palace, and come from the cot;
The strong and the hale-the poor and the pale—
 Ah! sad is the spirit that follows me not.

Old December lighted his pyre,
 And beckon'd ye in to the altar blaze;
He hung up his mistletoe over the fire,
 And press'd soft lips upon Christmas days.

Ye welcomed him with his eyes so dim,
 But I know ye have more love for me,
When I wander about, and whistle ye out
 With my blackbird pipers in every tree.

Oh! come from the town, and let us go down
 To the rivulet's mossy and osier'd brink;
'Tis pleasant to note the lily queen float;
 The gadfly skim, and the dappled kine drink.

Oh! let us away where the ringdoves play,
 By the skirts of the wood in the peaceful shade;
And there we can count the squirrels that mount,
 And the flocks that browse on the distant glade.

And if we should stay till the farewell of day,
 Its parting shall be with such lingering smile,
That the western light, as it greeteth the night,
 Will be caught by the castern ray peeping the while.

Little ones, come with your chattering hum,
 And the bee and the bird will be jealous full soon;
For no music is heard like the echoing word
 Of a child, as it treads 'mid the flowers of June.

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