Classic Poem

A LONG the road in the month of June,
With all the roses in their prime.
The laurel blooms and hears the tune
Of all the birds, for it is their time
Of fullest, fairest singing.

And no man meets awake, a-dream,
A daintier pink on lady's cheek
Than paints those clustered cups that seem
Like nuns demure and over-meek,
So close together clinging.

Some flowers are for city walks,
And some to love's light lattice climb;
And some are noisome on their stalks,
While others scent the summertime
In quiet garden closes.

But most of all, I think I love
Along some road of solitude
To see the laurel, flower of
A simpler yet a sweeter mood
Than any mood of roses!