June's Daughter

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.
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