July

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Now 'tis the time when, tall,
  The long blue torches of the bellflower gleam
  Among the trees; and, by the wooded stream.
  In many a fragrant ball.
  Blooms of the button-bush fall.

  Let us go forth and seek
  Woods where the wild plums redden and the beech
  Plumps its packed burs: and, swelling, just in reach.
  The pawpaw, emerald sleek.
  Ripens along the creek.

  Now 'tis the time when ways
  Of glimmering green flaunt white the misty plumes
  Of the black-cohosh; and through bramble glooms,
  A blur of orange rays,
  The butterfly-blossoms blaze.

  Let us go forth and hear
  The spiral music that the locusts beat,
  And that small spray of sound, so grassy sweet,
  Dear to a country ear,
  The cricket's summer cheer.

  Now golden celandine
  Is hairy hung with silvery sacks of seeds.
  And bugled o'er with freckled gold, like beads.
  Beneath the fox-grape vine,
  The jewel-weed's blossoms shine.

  Let us go forth and see
  The dragon- and the butterfly, like gems,
  Spangling the sunbeams; and the clover stems,
  Weighed down by many a bee,
  Nodding mellifluously.

  Now morns are full of song;
  The catbird and the redbird and the jay
  Upon the hilltops rouse the rosy day,
  Who, dewy, blithe, and strong,
  Lures their wild wings along.

  Now noons are full of dreams;
  The clouds of heaven and the wandering breeze
  Follow a vision; and the flowers and trees,
  The hills and fields and streams,
  Are lapped in mystic gleams.

  The nights are full of love;
  The stars and moon take up the golden tale
  Of the sunk sun, and passionate and pale,
  Mixing their fires above,
  Grow eloquent thereof.

  Such days are like a sigh
  That beauty heaves from a full heart of bliss:
  Such nights are like the sweetness of a kiss
  On lips that half deny,
  The warm lips of July.

© Madison Julius Cawein