Wearing a lei of roses as she danced
Along my winding paths of stepping stones
Till I returned and saw her beauty-robed
Through city-weary eyes. I laughed with her
To see a butterfly of silver poised
With wings uplifted on an Iris bloom
Of palest pink. With her I stood beneath
A blossoming apple tree and heard the song
Of love and mating from a lark's glad throat;
Then listened to the rhythmic melody
The little river sang. I filled her arms
With lilacs; wove a coronet
Of Lily of the Valley for her hair.
Beneath the old Black Willow I forgot
Enchaining years and tripped the bridal waltz.
Till I returned with city-weary heart,
I never knew the miracle of June.
