  By ELLEN O. PECK. Open thy gates, O summer, The air is balmy and sweet, And a radiant guest is ready To enter with fairy feet. ’Tis June with her brow of sunshine, And her wealth of green and gold, With drapery graceful and flowing, And flowers in every fold. O beautiful June! Thou art come again! O month of joy! O month of pain! Thy face is the face of my darling That lies beneath thy flowers, And that comes to me with thy coming On the wings of the golden hours; The years are swift in passing But the memories fondly stay, And time has no power to rob me Though it bear my youth away; For, framed like thee in choicest gold Is the face of my love which can not grow old. Thy lilies were clasped in her fingers— Not whiter the lilies than they— When under thy skies which were weeping They laid my darling away. There I planted a delicate rose-tree, Which thy coming calls to bloom, Each year a sweet reminder Of her heart’s own sweet perfume. Not fairer the bloom of these flowers of the sun, Than the radiant life of my beautiful one. And I read anew at thy coming Sweet lessons of love and truth, With the bitter lines of sorrow I learned in my happy youth. God sends a message golden Each year in thy glowing train, I would not fail in grasping Though with good it brings me pain. While I grieve for the beauty earth holds no more I catch a gleam of the heavenly shore. decorative line
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