Page:The New Penelope.djvu/282

276 'TWAS JUNE, NOT I.

Come out into the garden, Maud;"

In whispered tones young Percy said:

He but repeated what he'd read

That afternoon, with soft applaud:

A snatch, which for my same name's sake,

He caught, out of the sweet, soft song,

A lover for his love did make,

In half despite of some fond wrong:—

And more he quoted, just to show

How still the rhymes ran in his head,

With visions of the roses red

That on the poet's pen did grow.

The poet's spell was on our blood;

The spell of June was in the air;

We felt, more than we understood,

The charm of being young and fair.

Where everything is fair and young—

As on June eves doth fitly seem:

The Earth herself lies in among

The misty, azure fields of space,

A bride, whose startled blushes glow

Less flame-like through the shrouds of lace

That sweeter all her beauties show.

We walked and talked beneath the trees—

Bird-haunted, flowering trees of June—

The roses purpled in the moon;

We breathed their fragrance on the breeze—

Young Percy's voice is tuned to clear

Deep tones, as if his heart were deep:

This night it fluttered on my ear

As young birds flutter in their sleep.

My own voice faltered when I said