July, by Susan Hartley Swett

When the silver note in the streamlet’s throat /
Has softened almost to a sigh, /
It’s July.

2 comments

July

by Susan Hartley Swett

When the scarlet cardinal tells
Her dream to the dragonfly,
And the lazy breeze makes a nest in the trees,
And murmurs a lullaby,
It’s July.

When the tangled cobweb pulls
The cornflower’s cap awry,
And the lilies tall lean over the wall
To bow to the butterfly,
It’s 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’s July.

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

2 comments on “July, by Susan Hartley Swett”

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