The Book of the Native

by Charles G.D. Roberts


 

July


 

I am for the open meadows,
    Open meadows full of sun,
Where the hot bee hugs the clover,
    The hot breezes drop and run.

I am for the uncut hayfields

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    Open to the cloudless blue,—
For the wide unshadowed acres
    Where the summer’s pomps renew;

Where the grass-tops gather purple
    Where the ox-eye daisies thrive,

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And the mendicants of summer
    Laugh to feel themselves alive;

Where the hot scent steams and quivers,
    Where the hot saps thrill and stir,
Where in leaf-cells’ green pavilions

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    Quaint artificers confer;

Where the bobolinks are merry,
    Where the beetles bask and gleam,
Where above the powdered blossoms
    Powdered moth-wings poise and dream;

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Where the bead-eyed mice adventure
    In the grass-roots green and dun.
Life is good and love is eager
    In the playground of the sun!