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Another way to Love


  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?''


  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.


  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.