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Waiting my choice to open with full breast,
In-doors by vernal Chaucer, whose fresh woods 40 Throb thick with merle and mavis all the year.
July breathes hot, sallows the crispy fields,
That braze the horizon's western rim, or hang 45 Motionless, with heaped canvas drooping idly,
Like a dim fleet by starving men besieged,
50 But June is full of invitations sweet,
The cherry, drest for bridal, at my pane 55 Brushes, then listens, Will he come? The bee,
All dusty as a miller, takes his toll
Merely to bask and ripen is sometimes 60 The student's wiser business; the brain
That forages all climes to line its cells,
To the sweet substance of pellucid thought, 65 Except for him who hath the secret learned
To mix his blood with sunshine, and to take 44. 1. e., that give a brazen hue and hardness to the westera sky at sunset.
The winds into his pulses. Hush! 't is he!
Is come at last, and, ever on the watch, 70 Twitches the pack-thread I had lightly wound
About the bough to help his housekeeping, -
Nor, more than wiser we in our affairs,
Heare, ho! Heare, ho! he wbistles as the twine
Where his mate dangles at her cup of felt. 8. Nor all nis booty is the thread; he trails
My loosened thought with it along the air,
I care not how men trace their ancestry, 85 To ape or Adam; let them please their whim;
But I in June am midway to believe
Such mutual recognition vaguely sweet 90 There is between us. Surely there are times
When they consent to own me of their kin,
Forgotten, and yet dumbly felt with thrills 95 Moving the lips, though fruitless of the words.
And I have many a life-long leafy friend,
Yet undegenerate to the shifts of men.
His deep-ridged trunk with upward slant diverse, 105 In outline like enormous beaker, fit
For hand of Jotun, where, 'mid snow and mist
Of our New World subduers lingers yet
(They and the red-man most) our fathers' foes,
Where the steep upland dips into the marsh, 115 Their roots, like molten metal cooled in flowing,
Stiffened in coils and runnels down the bank.
Or whitens fitfully with sudden bloom
Of devious minnows wheel from where a pike
Alas! no acorn from the British oak 125 'Neath which slim fairies tripping wrought those
106. Jotun is a giant in the Scandinavian mythology.
112. The Pleiades were seven daughters of Atlas and Pleiona; w escape the hunter Orion, they begged to be changed in forin, and were made a constellation in the heavens. Only six were visible to the naked eye, so the seventh was held to be a lost Pleiad, and several stories were told to account for the loss.
Was ever planted here! No darnel fancy
Might choke one useful blade in Puritan fields; 130 With horn and hoof the good old Devil came,
The witch' broomstick was not contraband,
And if there be who nurse unholy faiths,
That snuffed round every home and was not seen,
By solitary shepherd first surmised
Of royal stirp, that silent came and vanished,
that faith which gave
The open-handed spirit, frank and blithe,
In June 't is good to lie beneath a tree
Steeps all the brain in rest, and heals the heart,
Wherewith the pitying apple-tree fills up
friends, Old friends! The writing of those words has borne My fancy backward to the gracious past,
The generous past, when all was possible, 160 For all was then untried; the years between