July By Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

I am for the open meadows,
Open meadows full of sun,
Where the hot bee hugs the clover,
The hot breezes drop and run.

I am for the uncut hayfields
Open to the cloudless blue,—
For the wide unshadowed acres
Where the summer’s pomps renew;

Where the grass-tops gather purple,
Where the oxeye daisies thrive,
And the mendicants of summer
Laugh to feel themselves alive;

Where the hot scent steams and quivers,
Where the hot saps thrill and stir,
Where in leaf-cells’ green pavilions
Quaint artificers confer;

Where the bobolinks are merry,
Where the beetles bask and gleam,
Where above the powdered blossoms
Powdered moth-wings poise and dream;

Where the bead-eyed mice adventure
In the grass-roots green and dun.
Life is good and love is eager
In the playground of the sun!