Midsummer in New England

The proud pomp of the midsummer is here;
With daisy blooms the meadow lands are white;
And over them the birds chant their delight,
And the blue, listening heavens bend to hear.

Within the lily's painted cup the bee
Swings drowsily, and dreams about the rose
He loved in June and how her leaves repose
Where none can find them save the winds and he.

The trees are heavy with their wealth of green,
And under them the waiting maidens walk,
And fill the idle hours with girlish talk
Of such a knight as never girl has seen—

How he is noble, good, and princely tall,
And one day he will come from his far place,
And read the blushes in his true love's face,
And she will rise and follow at his call:

And then I see a little painted boat,
With white sails set to seek the summer sea;
And in that boat two lovers young and free,
With favoring winds, 'neath smiling skies afloat.

And all the proud midsummer's pomp is come;
And all the joy of flower and bird and bee;
And all the deeper joy when he and she,
Their hearts' midsummer found, with bliss are dumb.
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