| |
| FOR a cap and bells our lives we pay, | |
| Bubbles we buy with a whole soul’s tasking; | |
| ’T is heaven alone that is given away, | |
| ’T is only God may be had for the asking; | |
| No price is set on the lavish summer; | 5 |
| June may be had by the poorest comer. | |
| |
| And what is so rare as a day in June? | |
| Then, if ever, come perfect days; | |
| Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, | |
| And over it softly her warm ear lays; | 10 |
| Whether we look or whether we listen, | |
| We hear life murmur or see it glisten; | |
| Every clod feels a stir of might, | |
| An instinct within it that reaches and towers, | |
| And, groping blindly above it for light, | 15 |
| Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; | |
| The flush of life may well be seen | |
| Thrilling back over hills and valleys; | |
| The cowslip startles in meadows green, | |
| The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, | 20 |
| And there ’s never a leaf nor a blade too mean | |
| To be some happy creature’s palace; | |
| The little bird sits at his door in the sun, | |
| A tilt like a blossom among the leaves, | |
| And lets his illumined being o’errun | 25 |
| With the deluge of summer it receives; | |
| His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, | |
| And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; | |
| He sings to the wide world and she to her nest,— | |
| In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best? | 30 |
| Now is the high-tide of the year, | |
| And whatever of life hath ebbed away | |
| Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer, | |
| Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; | |
| Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, | 35 |
| We are happy now because God wills it; | |
| No matter how barren the past may have been, | |
| ’T is enough for us now that the leaves are green; | |
| We sit in the warm shade and feel right well | |
| How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; | 40 |
| We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing | |
| That skies are clear and grass is growing; | |
| The breeze comes whispering in our ear, | |
| That dandelions are blossoming near, | |
| That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, | 45 |
| That the river is bluer than the sky, | |
| That the robin is plastering his house hard by; | |
| And if the breeze kept the good news back, | |
| For other couriers we should not lack; | |
| We could guess it all by yon heifer’s lowing,— | 50 |
| And hark! how clear bold chanticleer, | |
| Warmed with the new wine of the year, | |
| Tells all in his lusty crowing! | |
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