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 mans 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 mans temper.     Whats 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 mends her bowers 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 spinning, why, June will consider.