Yes, June is quite an idle elf, I think, Companion of Dan Cupid and the rest Of wayward fays who make a merry jest Of pain, and fan their wings upon the brink Of woodland stream and pool, where shy nymphs drink And bathe at dusk, then romp away in quest Of fireflies that blink in mute protest Their dingy lights, 'twixt earth and sky, or sink To refuge where the long grass intertwines Above its carpeting of russet moss. June loves these scenes of sylvan shade, and so, With pink limbs stretched in languidness, reclines On some proud fern that, swaying, leans across A twinkling brook where Pan is piping low. |