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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348133" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>June</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Long, long ago, it seems, this summer morn<br>That pale-browed April passed with pensive tread<br>Through the frore woods, and from its frost-bound bed<br>Woke the arbutus with her silver horn;<br>And now May, too, is fled,<br>The flower-crowned month, the merry laughing May,<br>With rosy feet and fingers dewy wet,<br>Leaving the woods and all cool gardens gay<br>With tulips and the scented violet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gone are the wind-flower and the adder-tongue<br>And the sad drooping bellwort, and no more<br>The snowy trilliums crowd the forest's floor;<br>The purpling grasses are no longer young,<br>And summer's wide-set door<br>O'er the thronged hills and the broad panting earth<br>Lets in the torrent of the later bloom,<br>Haytime, and harvest, and the after mirth,<br>The slow soft rain, the rushing thunder plume.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All day in garden alleys moist and dim,<br>The humid air is burdened with the rose;<br>In moss-deep woods the creamy orchid blows;<br>And now the vesper-sparrows' pealing hymn<br>From every orchard close<br>At eve comes flooding rich and silvery;<br>The daisies in great meadows swing and shine;<br>And with the wind a sound as of the sea<br>Roars in the maples and the topmost pine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">High in the hills the solitary thrush<br>Tunes magically his music of fine dreams,<br>In briary dells, by boulder-broken streams;<br>And wide and far on nebulous fields aflush<br>The mellow morning gleams.<br>The orange cone-flowers purple-bossed are there,<br>The meadow's bold-eyed gypsies deep of hue,<br>And slender hawkweed tall and softly fair,<br>And rosy tops of fleabane veiled with dew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So with thronged voices and unhasting flight<br>The fervid hours with long return go by;<br>The far-heard hylas piping shrill and high<br>Tell the slow moments of the solemn night<br>With unremitting cry;<br>Lustrous and large out of the gathering drouth<br>The planets gleam; the baleful Scorpion<br>Trails his dim fires along the droused south;<br>The silent world-incrusted round moves on.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And all the dim night long the moon's white beams<br>Nestle deep down in every brooding tree,<br>And sleeping birds, touched with a silly glee,<br>Waken at midnight from their blissful dreams,<br>And carol brokenly.<br>Dim surging motions and uneasy dreads<br>Scare the light slumber from men's busy eyes,<br>And parted lovers on their restless beds<br>Toss and yearn out, and cannot sleep for sighs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oft have I striven, sweet month, to figure thee,<br>As dreamers of old time were wont to feign,<br>In living form of flesh, and striven in vain;<br>Yet when some sudden old-world mystery<br>Of passion fired my brain,<br>Thy shape hath flashed upon me like no dream,<br>Wandering with scented curls that heaped the breeze,<br>Or by the hollow of some reeded stream<br>Sitting waist-deep in white anemones;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And even as I glimpsed thee thou wert gone,<br>A dream for mortal eyes too proudly coy,<br>Yet in thy place for subtle thought's employ<br>The golden magic clung, a light that shone<br>And filled me with thy joy.<br>Before me like a mist that streamed and fell<br>All names and shapes of antique beauty passed<br>In garlanded procession with the swell<br>Of flutes between the beechen stems; and last,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I saw the Arcadian valley, the loved wood,<br>Alpheus stream divine, the sighing shore,<br>And through the cool green glades, awake once more,<br>Psyche, the white-limbed goddess, still pursued,<br>Fleet-footed as of yore,<br>The noonday ringing with her frighted peals,<br>Down the bright sward and through the reeds she ran,<br>Urged by the mountain echoes, at her heels<br>The hot-blown cheeks and trampling feet of Pan.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Archibald+Lampman">Archibald Lampman</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348133" data-title="June de Archibald Lampman" data-description="Long, long ago, it seems, this summer morn
That pale-browed April passed with pensive tread
Through the frore woods, and from its frost-bound bed
Woke the arbutus with her silver horn;
And now May, too, is fled,
The flower-crowned month, the merry..."></div>
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