O crimson-hearted, flower-producing June-
Dear month of love, and laughter, and light song!
Wherein our mother brings her choral throng
To hymn the hymns that sweetest are in tune:
Wherein all gaily goes gave soul of wrong
That takes to bed quite blinded by the light
Of that sweet, sober, gentle queen of night
That rules the tides of earth and men-the moon;
I love you! for it was beneath your skies
I first looked Love into her starry eyes;
I love you! for beneath your dome of blue
I heard her answer-'And I love you too!'
I hate you!-'mid your flowers it was my lot
To hear those same lips say-'I love you not!'