July

When the scarlet cardinal tells

Her dream to the dragon fly,

And the lazy breeze makes a nest in the trees,

And murmurs a lullaby

It is July.

When the tangled cobweb pulls

The cornflower's cap awry,

And the lilies tall lean over the wall

To bow to the butterfly,

It's July.

When the heat like a mist veil floats,

And poppies flame in the rye,

And the silver note in the streamlet's throat

Has softened almost to a sigh

It is July.

When the hours are so still that time

Forgets them, and lets them lie

'Neath petals pink till the night stars wink

At the sunset in the sky,

It is July.

A stunning view of the sunset from Cadillac Mountain 

 in Maine's Acadia National Park

"July"

Susan Hartley Swett

19th century American writer and poet from Maine