A Memory of June

Claude McKay (1889-1948)
When June comes dancing o'er the death of May,
With scarlet roses tinting her green breast,
And mating thrushes ushering in her day,
And Earth on tiptoe for her golden guest,

I always see the evening when we met -
The first of June baptized in tender rain -
And walked home through the wide streets, gleaming wet,
Arms locked, our warm flesh pulsing with love's pain.

I always see the cheerful little room,
And in the corner, fresh and white, the bed,
Sweet scented with a delicate perfume,
Wherein, for one night only, we were wed;

Where in the starless stillness we lay mute,
And heard the whispering showers all night long,
And your brown body was a lute
Whereon my passion played his fevered song.

When June comes dancing o'er the death of May,
With scarlet roses staining her fair feet,
My soul takes leave of me to sing all day
A love so fugitive and so complete.

Published by Robin

I'm a retired journalist who still has stories to tell. This seems to be a good place to tell them.

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