O Month When They Who Love Must

O Bees, Sweet Bees!" I Said; "that Nearest Field Is Shining White With Fragrant Immortelles Fly Swiftly There And Drain Those Honey Wells.

I Shall Be Found With 'indians' Engraved On My Brain When I Am Dead. A Fire Has Been Kindled Within Me, Which Will Never Go Out.

Like A Blind Spinner In The Sun,i Tread My Days:i Know That All The Threads Will Runappointed Ways.i Know Each Day Will Bring Its Task,and Being Blind No More I Ask.

I Know The Lands Are Lit, With All The Autumn Blaze Of Goldenrod.

O May, Sweet-voice One, Going Thus Before, Forever June May Pour Her Warm Red Wine Of Life And Passions,--sweeter Days Are Thine!