July

July

The flaming torch of the sun now flies

With a fervid glow thro' the summer skies.

His height is reached these July days,

And the earth is parched with fiercest rays.

The grass is withered, the corn leaves rolled,

And the bearded grain he's turned to gold.

The murmuring brook is singing low;

Its limpid waters faintly flow.

The song-bird seeks the deepest shade,

Where silence reigns within the glade.

The kine, now standing in the pool,

Are resting thus so calm and cool.

Her sister, June, with roses bright

His filled our souls with pure delight,

And August now, with stately mien,

Must soon close up the summer scene.

This ardent heat, like a tropic clime,

Will ripen fruits for the Autumn time.

July 15, 1881