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The
Book of the Native
by
Charles G.D. Roberts
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July
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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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5 |
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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10 |
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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15 |
| 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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20 |
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! |
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