July

I Blue July, bright July, Month of storms and gorgeous blue; Violet lightnings o'er thy sky, Heavy falls of drenching dew; Summer crown! o'er glen and glade Shrinking hyacinths in their shade; I welcome thee with all thy pride, I love thee like an Eastern bride. Though all the singing days are done As in those climes that clasp the sun; Though the cuckoo in his throat Leaves to the dove his last twin note; Come to me with thy lustrous eye, Golden-dawning oriently, Come with all thy shining blooms, Thy rich red rose and rolling glooms. Though the cuckoo doth but sing 'cuk, cuk,' And the dove alone doth coo; Though the cushat spins her coo-r-roo, r-r-roo - To the cuckoo's halting 'cuk.' II Sweet July, warm July! Month when mosses near the stream, Soft green mosses thick and shy, Are a rapture and a dream. Summer Queen! whose foot the fern Fades beneath while chestnuts burn; I welcome thee with thy fierce love, Gloom below and gleam above. Though all the forest trees hang dumb, With dense leafiness o'ercome; Though the nightingale and thrush, Pipe not from the bough or bush; Come to me with thy lustrous eye, Azure-melting westerly, The raptures of thy face unfold, And welcome in thy robes of gold! Tho' the nightingale broods-'sweet-chuck-sweet' - And the ouzel flutes so chill, Tho' the throstle gives but one shrilly trill To the nightingale's 'sweet-sweet.'