Through the clerestories high of the heaven, the firmament's halls;

Under whose sapphirine walls,

June, hesperian June,

Robed in divinity wanders. Daily and nightly

The turquoise touch of her robe, that the violets star,

The silvery fall of her feet, that lilies are,

Fill the land with languorous light and perfume.—

Is it the melody mute of burgeoning leaf and of bloom?

The music of Nature, that silently shapes in the gloom

Immaterial hosts

Of spirits that have the flowers and leaves in their keep,

That I hear, that I hear?

Invisible ghosts,—

Who whisper in leaves and glimmer in blossoms and hover

[18]

In color and fragrance and loveliness, breathed from the deep

World-soul of the mother,

Nature;—who, over and over,

Both sweetheart and lover,

Goes singing her songs from one sweet month to the other,—

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