When June is here--what art have we to sing <br />The whiteness of the lilies midst the green <br />Of noon-tranced lawns? Or flash of roses seen <br />Like redbirds' wings? Or earliest ripening <br />Prince-Harvest apples, where the cloyed bees cling <br />Round winey juices oozing down between <br />The peckings of the robin, while we lean <br />In under-grasses, lost in marveling. <br />Or the cool term of morning, and the stir <br />Of odorous breaths from wood and meadow walks, <br />The bobwhite's liquid yodel, and the whir <br />Of sudden flight; and, where the milkmaid talks <br />Across the bars, on tilted barley-stalks <br />The dewdrops' glint in webs of gossamer.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-june-is-here/
