June

        Come, cuckoo, come:
        Come again, swift swallow:
Come and welcome! when you come
        Summer's sure to follow:
        June the month of months
        Flowers and fruitage brings too,
When green trees spread shadiest boughs,
        When each wild bird sings too.

        May is scant and crude,
        Generous June is riper:
Birds fall silent in July,
        June has its woodland piper:
Rocks upon the maple-tops
        Homely-hearted linnet,
Full in hearing of his nest
        And the dear ones in it.

        If the year would stand
        Still at June for ever,
With no further growth on land
        Nor further flow of river,
If all nights were shortest nights
And longest days were all the seven,
This might be a merrier world
        To my mind to live in.