The year has but one June, dear friend; <br />The year has but one June; <br />And when that perfect month doth end, <br />The robin's song, though loud, though long, <br />Seems never quite in tune. <br />The rose, though still its blushing face <br />By bee and bird is seen, <br />May yet have lost that subtle grace— <br />That nameless spell the winds know <br />Which makes it garden's queen. <br />Life's perfect June, love's red, red rose, <br />Have burned and bloomed for me. <br />Though still youth's summer sunlight glows; <br />Though thou art kind, dear friend, I find <br />I have no heart for thee.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/but-one/
