June is a scarlet rose,
The blossom of the year;
In May, among the open woods,
We watch the promise of her buds,
Which still are hidden close;–
The June-tide is not here!

June is a red, red rose,
The blossom of the year;
The winds and showers of May, too soon
Are drifted to the verge of June,
And summer heats disclose
The passion which is here!

June is a burning rose,
The blossom of the year;
The restless winds among the woods
Unseal the splendor of her buds,
And magic airs disclose
The light of Summer here!

June is a scarlet rose,
The blossom of the year;–
Her crimson crumpled petals lie
To mark the footsteps of July,–
Have peace,–the lily blows
And other life is here.

2010-12