The Month Of Roses - A poem by Elva May Root

The Month Of Roses.

Whence comes this mist of sweet perfume of fragrant
blooming roses
That fills the air at early dawn and after daylight closes,
When through the day the song bird sings and in the
night reposes?
Tis June, the fairest month of all, bright June, the
month of roses.
The sky has changed its grayish hue for that of deepest
azure,
And fleecy clouds are floating o'er and dancing as in
pleasure;
While near these fairy clouds are seen great Alps of
cloudland glory,
Where sunbeams darting to and fro mount each lofty
story,
When comes this grandeur in the skies that in winter
time reposes?
In June, the fairest month of all, bright June, the
month of roses.
The trees spread out their leafy boughs, the meadows
bloom with flowers;
The air is cooled, the dust is laid by calm, refreshing
showers;
The sun is up at early morn ^__ his eyes he scarcely closes,
For sunny June is with us now, fair June, the month
of roses.
The yellow rose blooms, .the white, pink, red in prairie,
field and garden,
And for the number and variety seem to ask your
pardon;
Their rich perfume so fills the air, the world seems
naught but roses;
A rosy crown they've made for June, and crowned her
Queen of Roses.

^__Elva May Root.

Poets and Poetry of Kansas
Edited by Thomas W. Herringshaw
(Chicago: American Publishers' Association. 1894)
Page 69