O month whose promise and fulfilment blend, <br />And burst in one! it seems the earth can store <br />In all her roomy house no treasure more; <br />Of all her wealth no farthing have to spend <br />On fruit, when once this stintless flowering end. <br />And yet no tiniest flower shall fall before <br />It hath made ready at its hidden core <br />Its tithe of seed, which we may count and tend <br />Till harvest. Joy of blossomed love, for thee <br />Seems it no fairer thing can yet have birth? <br />No room is left for deeper ecstacy? <br />Watch well if seeds grow strong, to scatter free <br />Germs for thy future summers on the earth. <br />A joy which is but joy soon comes to dearth.<br /><br />Helen Hunt Jackson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-calendar-of-sonnets-june/
