A June Day
The month is June, but all the sky is grey,
And to the weary earth seems leaning low;
There is no little breath of wind to blow
The searching perfume of these flowers away
Which climbing round the window peer and stay;
The thrush sings, where the branches thickly grow;
The day moves by, with heavy feet and slow;
"Death endeth all," the stillness seems to say.
But Love shall come before Death's nuptial hour;
There sits my queen and silent, pondering what?
Sees she, as I, Love's joy-environed bower,
Where sweet conspiring things one sweeter plot,
Or does she hear, 'neath some grave's guardian flower,
Sad sighing of dead loves remembered not?
~~
Philip Bourke Marston (1850-1887)
from Wind-voices, 1883
[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]
Philip Bourke Marston biography
Keith Evans, Grey Skies, June 2011. CC BY-SA 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.
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