A poem for the month of june


miscellaneous writings, 1883-1896, Mary Baker Eddy

Whence are thy wooings, gentle June? 

Thou hast a Naiad’s charm; 

Thy breezes scent the rose’s breath; 

Old Time gives thee her palm. 

The lark’s shrill song doth wake the dawn: 

The eve-bird’s forest flute 

Gives back some maiden melody, 

Too pure for aught so mute. 

The fairy-peopled world of flowers, 

Enraptured by thy spell, 

Looks love unto the laughing hours, 

Through woodland, grove, and dell; 

And soft thy footstep falls upon 

The verdant grass it weaves; 

To melting murmurs ye have stirred 

The timid, trembling leaves. 

When sunshine beautifies the shower, 

As smiles through teardrops seen, 

Ask of its June, the long-hushed heart, 

What hath the record been? 

And thou wilt find that harmonies, 

In which the Soul hath part, 

Ne’er perish young, like things of earth, 

In records of the heart.

(Miscellaneous Writings 1883–1896, Mary Baker Eddy)