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Broom out the floor now, lay the fender by,

Broom out the floor now, lay the fender by,

And plant this bee-sucked bough of woodbine there,

And let the window down. The butterfly

Floats in upon the sunbeam, and the fair

Tanned face of June, the nomad gipsy, laughs

The hedges are all drowned in green grass seas,

And bobbing poppies flare like Elmo's light

While siren-like the pollen-stained bees

Drone in the clover depths. And up the height

The cuckoo's voice is hoarse and broke with joy.

And loop this red rose in that hazel ring

That snares your little ear, for June is short

And we must joy in it and dance and sing,

And from her bounty draw her rosy worth.

Ay! soon the swallows will be flying south,

The wind wheel north to gather in the snow

Even the roses split on youth's red mouth

Will soon blow down the road all roses go.

*Elmo was a patron saint of sailors