Golden Numbers Part 3

Then came jolly Summer, being dight In a thin silken ca.s.sock, colored green, That was unlined, all to be more light, And on his head a garland well beseene.

EDMUND SPENSER.

_From "The Faerie Queene."_

_June Weather_

For a cap and bells our lives we pay, Bubbles we earn with a whole soul's tasking; 'T is heaven alone that is given away, 'T is only G.o.d may be had for the asking; No price is set on the lavish summer; June may be had by the poorest comer.

And what is so rare as a day in June?

Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays: Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in gra.s.s and flowers; The flush of life may well be seen Thrilling back over hills and valleys; The cowslip startles in meadows green, The b.u.t.tercup catches the sun in its chalice, And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean To be some happy creature's palace; The little bird sits at his door in the sun, Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, And lets his illumined being o'errun With the deluge of summer it receives; His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,-- In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?

Now is the high tide of the year, And whatever of life hath ebbed away Comes flooding back, with a ripply cheer, Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, We are happy now because G.o.d wills it; No matter how barren the past may have been, 'T is enough for us now that the leaves are green; We sit in the warm shade and feel right well How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing That skies are clear and gra.s.s is growing; The breeze comes whispering in our ear, That dandelions are blossoming near, That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, That the river is bluer than the sky, That the robin is plastering his house hard by; And if the breeze kept the good news back, For other couriers we should not lack, We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,-- And hark! how clear bold chanticleer, Warmed with the new wine of the year, Tells all in his l.u.s.ty crowing!

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

_From "The Vision of Sir Launfal."_

_July_[3]

When the scarlet cardinal tells Her dream to the dragon fly, And the lazy breeze makes a nest in the trees, And murmurs a lullaby, It is July.

When the tangled cobweb pulls The cornflower's cap awry, And the lilies tall lean over the wall To bow to the b.u.t.terfly, It is July.

When the heat like a mist-veil floats, And poppies flame in the rye, And the silver note in the streamlet's throat Has softened almost to a sigh, It is July.

When the hours are so still that time Forgets them, and lets them lie 'Neath petals pink till the night stars wink At the sunset in the sky, It is July.

SUSAN HARTLEY SWETT.

[Footnote 3: _By courtesy of Dana Estes & Co._]

_August_

The sixth was August, being rich arrayed In garment all of gold down to the ground; Yet rode he not, but led a lovely maid Forth by the lily hand, the which was crowned With ears of corn, and full her hand was found: That was the righteous Virgin, which of old Lived here on earth, and plenty made abound.

EDMUND SPENSER.

_In August_

All the long August afternoon, The little drowsy stream Whispers a melancholy tune, As if it dreamed of June, And whispered in its dream.

The thistles show beyond the brook Dust on their down and bloom, And out of many a weed-grown nook The aster flowers look With eyes of tender gloom.

The silent orchard aisles are sweet With smell of ripening fruit.

Through the sere gra.s.s, in shy retreat Flutter, at coming feet, The robins strange and mute.

There is no wind to stir the leaves, The harsh leaves overhead; Only the querulous cricket grieves, And shrilling locust weaves A song of summer dead.

WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS.

_Autumn_

Then came the Autumn all in yellow clad, As though he joyed in his plenteous store, Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full glad That he had banished hunger, which to-fore Had by the belly oft him pinched sore: Upon his head a wreath, that was enroll'd With ears of corn of every sort, he bore; And in his hand a sickle he did hold, To reap the ripen'd fruits the which the earth had yold.

EDMUND SPENSER.

_From "The Faerie Queene."_

_Sweet September_

O sweet September! thy first breezes bring The dry leafs rustle and the squirrel's laughter, The cool, fresh air, whence health and vigor spring, And promise of exceeding joy hereafter.

GEORGE ARNOLD.

_Autumn's Processional_

Then step by step walks Autumn, With steady eyes that show Nor grief nor fear, to the death of the year, While the equinoctials blow.

DINAH MARIA MULOCK.

_October's Bright Blue Weather_

O suns and skies and clouds of June, And flowers of June together, Ye cannot rival for one hour October's bright blue weather;

When loud the b.u.mblebee makes haste, Belated, thriftless vagrant, And goldenrod is dying fast, And lanes with grapes are fragrant;

When gentians roll their fringes tight To save them for the morning, And chestnuts fall from satin burrs Without a sound of warning;

When on the ground red apples lie In piles like jewels shining, And redder still on old stone walls Are leaves of woodbine twining; When all the lovely wayside things Their white-winged seeds are sowing, And in the fields, still green and fair, Late aftermaths are growing;

When springs run low, and on the brooks, In idle golden freighting, Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush Of woods, for winter waiting;

When comrades seek sweet country haunts, By twos and twos together, And count like misers, hour by hour, October's bright blue weather.

O sun and skies and flowers of June, Count all your boasts together, Love loveth best of all the year October's bright blue weather.

H. H.

_Maple Leaves_