Part 1 (2/2)
Come walk a mile with me--'Tis merry May-time; The little lambs are gamboling on the green,-- Nature is glad--it is her hour of playtime, And now, or never, her true heart is seen; The b.u.t.terflies are floating down from heaven, And humming-birds again are on the wing,-- And the kind swallows, seventy times seven, Fill all the air with merry murmuring.
And see the lilacs by yon cottage blooming!-- How sweet the air is!--sweetness everywhere, For look!--rich apple-blossoms are perfuming This little lane that leads to woodlands fair,-- Here honeysuckle-bells are softly swinging, And pink azaleas perfume all the wood, And, in the trees, the vireos are singing Incessantly their songs of solitude, While round the hill, as slow our steps are wending, We hear a sweet Voice calling,--”Come, O come!”
For see!--the sun is in the West decending, And happy hearts are waiting us at home.
JUNE
Come walk a mile with me--'Tis June,--fair June-day, And Nature smiles--her magic hands are still, For not a ripple stirs yon lake at noon-day, And not a breeze disturbs this woody hill; But hark!--what idle dreamer there is drumming?
It is--it is a pheasant calling--”Come!”
And listen!--like a low voice sweetly humming Is heard the brook within its forest home.
But wait!--We cannot wait--'Twill soon be Summer, So let us now enjoy these days of June, For hear ye not that late, but welcome comer, Robert-of-Lincoln carroling his tune; And see ye not yon oriole high swinging His basket from that tall and leafy tree-- O Comrade, Comrade!--Time is swiftly winging,-- 'Twill not be always June with you and me; Spring-time is pa.s.sing--Summer is a-coming, And soon fair Autumn with her idle dreams, And then cold Winter, her White hands benumbing The icy lakes and silent, woodland streams!
O Comrade!--Comrade!--let us not be weary, But pick life's pretty blossoms while they bloom, Forgetting every prospect, sad or dreary, Avoiding every lane that leads to gloom!
For see!--each flower lifts a golden chalice Inviting us to drink--Shall we pa.s.s by, With faces sad, nor enter this fair palace That June has rear'd us 'neath a cloudless sky?
PART TWO.
JULY.
Come walk a mile with me--'Tis July weather; The western sun is burning round and bright, And not a breeze disturbs yon tiny feather From a young swallow loosen'd in its flight; But hark!--in yonder broad and sunlit meadow The sound of busy mowers fill the air, While from a tree that casts a pleasing shadow, Is heard the locust piping shrilly there.
And see, how strong men lift the scented gra.s.ses!
And how they pile the wagons with the hay!
How fast the rake, with rolling burden, pa.s.ses!
How regular the long, round winrows lay!
And see!--the sun--the great round sun is setting, Like a red rose upon the distant hill, Till all the earth seems tenderly forgetting Day's dying light on meadow, lake and rill; But come!--for darkness soon will gather round us, And we must pa.s.s through yonder woodlands there; And then white fields of buckwheat will surround us, And then--then--home we shall together share.
AUGUST
Come walk a mile with me--'Tis August. Listen!
The meadow-quail is whistling merrily, And see!--the dew-drops, like great diamonds, glisten On gra.s.s and shrub and bush and bending tree; And everywhere is peace and joy and plenty, For everywhere this morning we may go One seed of Spring has well returned its twenty, Till Autumn's face with goodness is aglow.
Yes, oaten fields are white and ripe for reaping, And green things paling in the garden there Tell us too well that Summer is a-sleeping, And harvest-time is on us unaware; The early apples even now are falling, The ta.s.sel'd corn, the fields of ripening rye, The purpling grape--all, all are sadly calling That Summer's glory, too, must fade and die.
But hark!--what sound is that!--it seems like thunder, And yet 'tis but the wind, within the trees,-- The far-off wind, fresh-filled with nameless wonder,-- A prophesy of Autumn's freshening breeze.
SEPTEMBER
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