JUNE

And what is so rare as a day in June?

Then, if ever, come perfect days;

Then heaven tries earth if it be in tune,

And over it softly her warm ear lays;

Whether we look or whether we listen,

We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;

Every clod feels a stir of might,

An instinct within it that reaches and towers,

And, groping blindly above it for light,

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers.

James Russell Lowell.

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