FAIR Lady June, proud Queen of all the year, With blossom-sceptre in thy royal hand -- Vaunt not thyself: though long thy days and dear. Thy days and thee Time's sway cannot withstand. Thy splendid sun may kindle the proud morn; And the high noon may glow with love of thee: Sunset shall laugh thy longest day to scorn, And mocking stars its overthrow shall see. Roses shall wither, though their lavish praise The nightingales have chanted all night long: Their fragrant ghosts shall throng the silent ways Those swift-winged laureates once thrilled with song. And thou, fair Maid, bright daughter of the June, Dost thou not know thy youth, like hers, is brief? -- For thee the glad day, and the bird's glad tune; And then the waning year, the wind-blown leaf. The rising stars shall mock thy setting sun, And watch with curious eyes thy fallen state: Glad month! glad maid! -- for both the swift sands run -- And not for month or maid shall Autumn wait. |