And not alone you kept your banners flying,—
And not alone you met each bitter day,—
For dauntless ones,—unseen, and death-defying,
Swept outward with you on your darkened way!
JUNE
Now by every meadow-side the buttercups blow—
(O June, you are spendthrift of your gold!)
Green are the uplands where the little lambs go,
Green and glad the forests that are old.
Once again the summer weaves on her magic loom,
Cloth of clover,—fairy web of wheat;—
Only Mary's alabaster box of perfume
Ever made the passing wind more sweet.
Even through the city where the dusty roads run,
Blue runs now the river to the sea.
Tender is the twilight when the long day is done,—
Infinite the stars' tranquillity.
Not forever are the rains or the winter snows,
All these past—nor shall be overlong,—
And with every lovely June cometh the rose,
The sweet blue dusk,—a night-bird's wonder-song!
OCTOBER GOES
October goes, and its colors pass:
At dawn there's a silver film on the grass,
And the reeds are shining as pipes of glass,