poems by mary baker eddy
55
JUNE
HENCE are thy wooings, gentle June? Thou hast a naiad's charm;
Thy breezes scent the rose's breath;
Old Time gives thee her palm.
The lark's shrill song doth wake the dawn:
The eve-bird's forest flute
Gives back some maiden melody,
Too pure for aught so mute.
The fairy-peopled world of flowers,
Enraptured by thy spell,
Looks love unto the laughing hours,
Through woodland, grove, and dell;
And soft thy footstep falls upon
The verdant grass it weaves;
To melting murmurs ye have stirred
The timid, trembling leaves.
Enraptured by thy spell,
Looks love unto the laughing hours,
Through woodland, grove, and dell;
And soft thy footstep falls upon
The verdant grass it weaves;
To melting murmurs ye have stirred
The timid, trembling leaves.
When sunshine beautifies the shower,
As smiles through teardrops seen,
Ask of its June, the long-hushed heart,
What hath the record been?
As smiles through teardrops seen,
Ask of its June, the long-hushed heart,
What hath the record been?
