I 
Blue July, bright July, 
Month of storms and gorgeous blue; 
Violet lightnings o'er thy sky, 
Heavy falls of drenching dew; 
Summer crown! o'er glen and glade 
Shrinking hyacinths in their shade; 
I welcome thee with all thy pride, 
I love thee like an Eastern bride. 
Though all the singing days are done 
As in those climes that clasp the sun; 
Though the cuckoo in his throat 
Leaves to the dove his last twin note; 
Come to me with thy lustrous eye, 
Golden-dawning oriently, 
Come with all thy shining blooms, 
Thy rich red rose and rolling glooms. 
Though the cuckoo doth but sing 'cuk, cuk,' 
And the dove alone doth coo; 
Though the cushat spins her coo-r-roo, r-r-roo - 
To the cuckoo's halting 'cuk.' 


II 
Sweet July, warm July! 
Month when mosses near the stream, 
Soft green mosses thick and shy, 
Are a rapture and a dream. 
Summer Queen! whose foot the fern 
Fades beneath while chestnuts burn; 
I welcome thee with thy fierce love, 
Gloom below and gleam above. 
Though all the forest trees hang dumb, 
With dense leafiness o'ercome; 
Though the nightingale and thrush, 
Pipe not from the bough or bush; 
Come to me with thy lustrous eye, 
Azure-melting westerly, 
The raptures of thy face unfold, 
And welcome in thy robes of gold! 
Tho' the nightingale broods-'sweet-chuck-sweet' - 
And the ouzel flutes so chill, 
Tho' the throstle gives but one shrilly trill 
To the nightingale's 'sweet-sweet.'