To Mr. James T. White
Who loves not June [2]
Is out of tune
With love and God;
The rose his rival reigns, [5]
The stars reject his pains,
His home the clod!
And yet I trow,
When sweet rondeau
Doth play a part, [10]
The curtain drops on June;
Veiled is the modest moon—
Hushed is the heart.