Another Way Of Love

I.

    June was not over
      Though past the fall,
    And the best of her roses
      Had yet to blow,
      When a man I know
    (But shall not discover,
      Since ears are dull,
    And time discloses)
Turned him and said with a man's true air,
Half sighing a smile in a yawn, as 'twere,---
``If I tire of your June, will she greatly care?''

II.

    Well, dear, in-doors with you!
      True! serene deadness
    Tries a man's temper.
      What's in the blossom
      June wears on her bosom?
    Can it clear scores with you?
      Sweetness and redness.
    _Eadem semper!_
Go, let me care for it greatly or slightly!
If June mend her bower now, your hand left unsightly
By plucking the roses,---my June will do rightly.

III.

    And after, for pastime,
      If June be refulgent
    With flowers in completeness,
      All petals, no prickles,
      Delicious as trickles
    Of wine poured at mass-time,---
      And choose One indulgent
    To redness and sweetness:
Or if, with experience of man and of spider,
June use my June-lightning, the strong insect-ridder,
And stop the fresh film-work,---why, June will consider.