A Comparison in a Seaside Field
'Tis royal and authentic June Over this poor soil blossoming; Here lies, beneath an upright noon, Thin nation for so wild a king. Far off, the noble Summer rules, Violent in the ardent rose, His sun alight in mirroring pools, Braggart on Alps of vanquished snows; Away, aloft, true to his hour, Announced, his colour, his fire, his jest. But here, in negligible flower, Summer is not proclaimed:—confessed. A woman I marked; for her no state, Small joy, no song. She had her boon, Her only youth, true to its date, Faintly perceptible, her June.
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