CAN you tell me where has hid her

Pretty Maid July?

I would swear one day ago

She passed by,

I wbuld swear that I do know

The blue bliss of her eye:

" Tarry, maid, maid," I bid her;

But she hastened by.

Do you know where she has hid her,

Maid July?

Yet in truth it needs must be

The flight of her is old;

Yet in truth it needs must be,

For her nest, the earth, is cold.

No more in the pool £d Even

Wade her rosy feet,

Dawn-flakes no more plash from them

To poppies 'mid the wheat.

She has muddied the day's oozes

With her petulant feet;

Scared the clouds that floated

As sea-birds they were,

Slow on the coerule

Lulls of the air,

Lulled on the luminous

Levels of air:

She has chidden in a pet

All her Stars from her;

Now they wander loose and sigh

Through the turbid blue,

Now they wander, weep, and cry

Yea, and I too—

" Where are you, sweet July,

Whereare you?"

Who hath beheld her footprints

Or the pathway she goes ?

Teil me, wind, teil me, wheat,

Which of you knows ?

Sleeps she swathed in the flushed Arctic

Night of the rose?

Or lie her limbs like Alp-glow

On the lily's snows ?

Gales, that are all-visitant,

Find the runaway;

And for him who findeth her

(I do charge you say)

I will throw largesse of broom

Of this summer's mintage,

I will broach a honey-bag

Of the bee's best vintage.

Breezes, wheat, flowers sweet,

None of them knows!

How then shall we Iure her back

From the way she goes?

For it were a shameful thing,

Saw we not this corner

Ere Autumn camp upon the fields

Red with rout of Summer.

When the bird quits the cage,

We set the cage outside,

With seed and with water,

And the door wide,

Haply we may win it so

Back to abide.

Hang her cage of earth out

O'er Heaven's sunward wall,

Its four gates open, winds in watch

By reinèd cars at all;

Relume in hanging hedgerows

The rain-quenched blossom,

And roses sob their tears out

On the gale's warm heaving bosom;

Shake the lilies tili their scent

Over-drip their rims;

That our runaway may see

We do know her whims :

Sleek the tumbled waters out

For her travelled limbs ;

Strew and smooth blue night thereon,

There will—O not doubt her !—

The lovely sleepy lady lie,

With all her stars about her!