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Quotations about June


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It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside. ~Maud Hart Lovelace, Betsy-Tacy and Tib, 1941


It is the month of June,
      The month of leaves and roses,
When pleasant sights salute the eyes,
      And pleasant scents the noses...
~Nathaniel P. Willis  [The original poem is actually stating how June should be, but it just won't stop raining. —tg]


June comes, and ours is so green a world that we quite forget the all but leafless days of January, so warm and beneficent a world that we can't quite remember those zero mornings when the land was white with snow and ice. Now it is June, it is warm, it is summer... Robins have found their voices and brown thrashers celebrate morning, afternoon, and evening. ~Hal Borland, "The Green, Green World," A Countryman's Woods, 1983


Tell you what I like the best —
      'Long about knee-deep in June,
      'Bout the time strawberries melts
      On the vine,—some afternoon
Like to 'jes git out and rest,
      And not work at nothin' else!
~James Whitcomb Riley, "Knee-Deep in June"


What is one to say about June — the time of perfect young summer, the fulfillment of the promise of the earlier months, and with as yet no sign to remind one that its fresh young beauty will ever fade? For my own part I wander up into the wood and say, "June is here — June is here; thank God for lovely June!" The soft cooing of the wood-dove, the glad song of many birds, the flitting of butterflies, the hum of all the little winged people among the branches, the sweet earth-scents — all seem to say the same, with an endless reiteration... ~Gertrude Jekyll, "June," Wood and Garden, 1899


June in the branches sleeps its fill;
July and August are dead still...
~Mark Van Doren, "Hardhead," Spring Thunder and Other Poems, 1924


In June as many as a dozen species may burst their buds on a single day. No man can heed all of these anniversaries; no man can ignore all of them. ~Aldo Leopold, "Prairie Birthday"


Green was the silence, wet was the light,
the month of June trembled like a butterfly...
~Pablo Neruda


There is no price set on the lavish summer,
And June may be had by the poorest comer.
~James Russell Lowell, The Vision of Sir Launfal, 1848


The churchyard was full of fine trees. On one side a magnificent cedar; on the other a great copper beech. Here and there among the tombs and headstones many beautiful blossoming trees rose from the long green grass. The laburnum glowed in the June afternoon sunlight; the lilac, the hawthorn and the clustering meadowsweet which fringed the edge of the lazy stream mingled their heavy sweetness in sleepy fragrance. The yellow-grey crumbling walls were green in places with wrinkled harts-tongues, and were topped with sweet-williams and spreading house-leek and stone-crop and wild-flowers whose delicious sweetness made for the drowsy repose of perfect summer. ~Bram Stoker, The Man, 1905


Thy joyous presence lends
To every heart that droops, a cheering boon;
Oh, blessed be the bounteous hand, which sends
The leaves and flowers of June.
~Mary Ann H. Dodd Shutts (1813–1878), "June"


June was eternity! ~James Whitcomb Riley, "Knee-Deep in June"


Lay out there and try to see
Jes' how lazy you kin be!—
      Trumble round and souse your head
In the clover-bloom, er pull
      Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes,
      And peek through it at the skies,
Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead,
      Maybe smilin' back at you
In betwixt the beautiful
      Clouds o' gold and white and blue!
Month a man kin railly love&mash;
June, you know, I'm talkin' of!
~James Whitcomb Riley, "Knee-Deep in June"


We have no springtime here… but we have JUNE!
Flame-flowered, yellow-petaled June...
~Don Blanding, "Hawaiian June," 1926


Mumbo jumbo, what have we here?
Why we have the longest day in the year.
This is the rarest day of June,
And it's weeks and weeks from dawn to noon...
Oh, man has need of all his strength
To survive a day of medium length;
What wonder, then, that man grows bitter
On a day that sits like a flagpole-sitter...
On farm and field, in office and park,
This is the day that won't get dark...
Mumbo jumbo, noon infernal,
This, my dears, is the day eternal.
~Ogden Nash (1902–1971), "Midsummer's Daymare"  [A little altered. Summer solstice. —tg]


The roses make the world so sweet,
      The bees, the birds have such a tune,
There's such a light and such a heat
      And such a joy this June...
~George MacDonald, "To —"


Ah, lovely June, thy sunny days are here,
The world seems gayer for thy coming;
The glad birds sing their shrill and tender songs,
And all day long the bees are humming.
All fairest things are of thyself a part:
Ah, lovely June, so sweet thou art!...
~Jean Wright, "June Song," 1895


The birds sing low, the birds sing high,
The lights of June are in the sky...
~Sara L. Vickers Oberholtzer, "Days of June," Souvenirs of Occasions, 1892


How softly runs the afternoon
Beneath the billowy clouds of June!
~Charles Hanson Towne


June brings tulips, lilies, roses,
Fills the children's hands with posies...
~Sara Coleridge (1802–1852), "The Months"


In our methodical American life, we still recognize some magic in summer. Most persons at least resign themselves to being decently happy in June. They accept June. They compliment its weather. They complain of the earlier months as cold, and so spend them in the city; and they complain of the later months as hot, and so refrigerate themselves on some barren sea-coast. God offers us yearly a necklace of twelve pearls; most men choose the fairest, label it June, and cast the rest away. ~Thomas Wentworth Higginson, "April Days," 1861  [a little altered —tg]


I sing thy beauties now,
Month of the golden morn and dewy noon,
For fairest of the sister-three art thou,
O lovely, smiling June!
~Mary Ann H. Dodd Shutts (1813–1878), "June"


If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance. ~Bern Williams, as quoted in Reader's Digest, 1995


June, thy beauty is a snare,
To waste time in visions rare;
Of vain dreaming, oh, beware!
~Caroline May, 1887



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