An April Rhyme Of June.Pass o'er uplands brown and bare; Violets sleep in the sleeping meadow, Wings are still in the silent air; June, O June, art thou anywhere? Sun and shower, sun and shower, Last year's nests in the voiceless trees, Furrowed fields under skies that lower, Roadsides barren of bloom and bees__ June, O June, art thou born of these? Yet the presence of some new-comer Thrills us, a prescience of things to be; After rain come the scents of summer; Silence even is prophecy. June, O June, does it tell of thee? Lay your ear to the earth and listen! Hark! the hum of the hosts of spring; Southward dimly their banners glisten, Nights the smoke of their camp-fires bring. June, thy soul is in everything! ___Arthur Graves Canfield
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