July / Folgore da San Geminiano

from Of the Months

July

For July, in Siena, by the willow-tree,
    I give you barrels of white Tuscan wine
    In ice far down your cellars stored supine;
And morn and eve to eat in company
Of those vast jellies dear to you and me;
    Of partridges and youngling pheasants sweet,
    Boil'd capons, sovereign kids: and let their treat
Be veal and garlic, with whom these agree.
Let time slip by, till by-and-hy, all day;
    And never swelter through the heat at all,
But move at ease at home, sound, cool, and gay;
    And wear sweet-colour'd robes that lightly fall;
And keep your tables set in fresh array.
    Not coaxing spleen to be your seneschal.

~~
Folgore da San Geminiano (?1270-1332?)
translated by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882)
from The Early Italian Poets, 1861

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

[]

Folgore da San Geminiano biography
Dante Gabriel Rossetti biography

Limbourg brothers, from Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry, 

ca. 1402-1416. Wikimedia Commons.

A July Noon / Helen Gray Cone

A July Noon

The sumachs, noiseless, by the still, hot road
Stand up as guards, with blood-red soldier plumes.
How light the hill-blue, clear of cloudy glooms!
How lone the land, with summer overflowed!
Dry crickets grate; a bee takes larger load
With low, pleased muttering, where the wild-rose blooms;
The bovine breath of sleeping fields perfumes
Warm air, with drifts of wayside spicery sowed.
Good earth, how glad a thing it is to be
Part of this full, yet placid life of thine,
Close to thy heart as humblest creatures press!
To claim our kinship with the clod,— resign,
One sunny hour, the spiritual stress
That leads, though lifts, our lives away from thee!

~~
Helen Gray Cone (1859-1934)
from Through the Year with the Poets: July, 1886

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Helen Gray Cone biography

Nxr-at, Maize fields in July, Oststeiermark, 2009. CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons.

Summer Storm / Duncan Campbell Scott

Summer Storm

Last night a storm fell on the world
    From heights of drouth and heat,
The surly clouds for weeks were furled,
    The air could only sway and beat.

The beetles clattered at the blind,
    The hawks fell twanging from the sky,
The west unrolled a feathery wind,
    And the night fell sullenly.

The storm leaped roaring from its lair,
    Like the shadow of doom,
The poignard lightning searched the air,
    The thunder ripped the shattered gloom.

The rain came down with a roar like fire,
    Full-voiced and clamorous and deep,
The weary world had its heart's desire,
    And fell asleep.

And now in the morning early,
    The clouds are sailing by
Clearly, oh! so clearly,
    The distant mountains lie.

The wind is very mild and slow,
    The clouds obey his will,
They part and part and onward go,
    Travelling together still.

'Tis very sweet to be alive,
    On a morning that 's so fair,
For nothing seems to stir or strive,
    In the unconscious air.

A tawny thrush is in the wood,
    Ringing so wild and free; 

Only one bird has a blither mood,
    The white-throat on the tree.

~~
Duncan Campbell Scott (1862-1947)
from The Magic House, and other poems, 1895

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Duncan Campbell Scott biography

Paul Harrison, Lightning Storm over Kingston, Ontario, 2011. 

CC BY-SA 4/0. Wikimedia Commons.

July / William Morris

from The Earthly Paradise

July

Fair was the morn to-day, the blossom's scent
Floated across the fresh grass, and the bees
With low vexed song from rose to lily went,
A gentle wind was in the heavy trees,
And thine eyes shone with joyous memories;
Fair was the early morn, and fair wert thou,
And I was happy, — Ah, be happy now!

Peace and content without us, love within
That hour there was, now thunder and wild rain,
Have wrapped the cowering world, and foolish sin,
And nameless pride, have made us wise in vain;
Ah. love! although the morn shall come again,
And on new rosebuds the new sun shall smile,
Can we regain what we have lost meanwhile?

E'en now the west grows clear of storm and threat,
But midst the lightning did the fair sun die:
Ah! he shall rise again for ages yet,
He cannot waste his life; but thou and I,
Who knows if next morn this felicity
My lips may feel, or if thou still shalt live
This seal of love renewed once more to give?

~~
William Morris (1834-1896)
from Through the Year with the Poets: July 

(edited by Oscar Fay Adams), 1886

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

William Morris biography

John Sutton, Radbourne: a July evening, 2014. CC BY-SA 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.

Morning of My Life / Will Dockery

Morning of My Life

Walking down my street
she shakes her head
in the summer heat.
We met back at
Richards Junior High,
talking to the Grass-man
all about the Taxman.
I never wanted to
have to say goodbye.
        She walked right in
        into the morning of my life.

All around the curfew
barefoot in the wet dew,
we chased a dream
we could never realize.
Talking about Black Betty,
I felt like J. Paul Getty;
I never knew a kiss
could get me this high.
        She walked right past
        through the morning of my life.

When she sang that song to me,
her secret longing to be free,
on the corner
in soft summer rain.
Bought America in a jar,
filled with samples from afar.
I felt her vibe shake me
like a steam train.
        She walked right through
        deep in the morning of my life.

She shook me,
she really woke me up,
perfect sky
and her big blue eyes.
She smiled my blues away.
Pretty baby, I wish
you could have stayed.

Then she kind of moved away;
life called
and we could not stay.
Sweet little lady
I think you've seen that movie too.
Saying goodbye to a friend
you never think it is the end.
I never thought
you were gone to stay.
        She walked right out
        out of the morning of my life.

~~
Will Dockery, 2016
from Selected Poems, 1976-2019, 2019 

[All rights reserved - used with permission]

Will Dockery biography

"In the Morning of My Life" (c) 2025 by Will Dockery and Brian Mallard. All rights reserved.

Gathered Roses / Francis W. Bourdillon

Gathered Roses

Bill Nicholls, Bee in a Rose, 2016.

CC BY-SA 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.

Only a bee made prisoner,
    Caught in a gathered rose!
Was he not 'ware, a flower so fair
    For the first gatherer grows?

Only a heart made prisoner,
    Going out free no more!
Was he not 'ware, a face so fair
    Must have been gathered before?

~~
Francis W. Bourdillon (1852-1921)
from Among the Flowers, and other poems, 1878

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

Francis W. Bourdillon biography

The Mounting Summer, Brilliant and Ominous / Delmore Schwartz

The Mounting Summer, Brilliant and Ominous

A yellow-headed, gold-hammered, sunflower-lanterned
Summer afternoon: after the sun soared and soared
All morning to the marble shining heights of marvellous blue,
Like lions insurgent, bursting out of a great zoo,
As if all vividness poured down, poured out, poured
Over, bursting and breaking in all the altitudes of blaze,
As when the whole ocean rises and rises in irresistable motion, shaking;
The roar of the heart in a shell or the roar of the sea beyond the 

  concessions of possession and the secessions of time's fearful procession, 

  precious even in continuous perishing.

~~
Delmore Schwartz (1913-1966)
from Summer Knowledge: New and selected poems, 1959

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada]

Delmore Schwartz biography

Amin010n, Burning sunny day, 2020 (detail). CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons.