The landscape is light; the dark clouds flee above,

And the shades of the land are a blue that is deep as love.

MAY

ED. But if you have seen a village all red and old

In cherry-orchards a-sprinkle with white and gold,

By a hawthorn seated, or a witchelm flowering high,

A gay breeze making riot in the waving rye!

JUNE

BA. Then night retires from heaven; the high

winds go