JULY

Then came hot July, boiling like to fire, That all his garments he had cast away; Upon a lion raging yet with ire He boldly rode, and made him to obey. —Edmund Spenser.

A pleasing land of drowsyhead it was, Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye; And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, For ever flushing round a summer sky. —James Thomson.