[Behind the scenes.]

Blue flags, yellow flags, flags all freckled, Which will you take? yellow, blue, speckled!

Take which you will, speckled, blue, yellow, Each in its way has not a fellow.

[Enter July, a basket of many-colored irises slung upon his shoulders, a bunch of ripe gra.s.s in one hand, and a plate piled full of peaches balanced upon the other. He steals up to June, and tickles her with the gra.s.s. She wakes.]

_June._

What, here already?

_July._

Nay, my tryst is kept; The longest day slipped by you while you slept.

I've brought you one curved pyramid of bloom,

[Hands her the plate.

Not flowers, but peaches, gathered where the bees, As downy, bask and boom In sunshine and in gloom of trees.

But get you in, a storm is at my heels; The whirlwind whistles and wheels, Lightning flashes and thunder peals, Flying and following hard upon my heels.

[June takes shelter in a thickly-woven arbor.]

_July._

The roar of a storm sweeps up From the east to the lurid west, The darkening sky, like a cup, Is filled with rain to the brink;

The sky is purple and fire, Blackness and noise and unrest; The earth, parched with desire, Opens her mouth to drink.

Send forth thy thunder and fire, Turn over thy br.i.m.m.i.n.g cup, O sky, appease the desire Of earth in her parched unrest; Pour out drink to her thirst, Her famishing life lift up; Make thyself fair as at first, With a rainbow for thy crest.

Have done with thunder and fire, O sky with the rainbow crest; O earth, have done with desire, Drink, and drink deep, and rest.

[Enter August, carrying a sheaf made up of different kinds of grain.]

_July._

Hail, brother August, flushed and warm And scatheless from my storm.

Your hands are full of corn, I see, As full as hands can be:

And earth and air both smell as sweet as balm In their recovered calm, And that they owe to me.

[July retires into a shrubbery.]

_August._

Wheat sways heavy, oats are airy, Barley bows a graceful head, Short and small shoots up canary, Each of these is some one's bread; Bread for man or bread for beast, Or at very least A bird's savory feast.

Men are brethren of each other, One in flesh and one in food; And a sort of foster brother Is the litter, or the brood, Of that folk in fur or feather, Who, with men together, Breast the wind and weather.

[August descries September toiling across the lawn.]

_August._

My harvest home is ended; and I spy September drawing nigh With the first thought of Autumn in her eye, And the first sigh Of Autumn wind among her locks that fly.

[September arrives, carrying upon her head a basket heaped high with fruit]

_September._

Unload me, brother. I have brought a few Plums and these pears for you, A dozen kinds of apples, one or two Melons, some figs all bursting through Their skins, and pearled with dew These damsons violet-blue.

[While September is speaking, August lifts the basket to the ground, selects various fruits, and withdraws slowly along the gravel walk, eating a pear as he goes.]

_September._

My song is half a sigh Because my green leaves die; Sweet are my fruits, but all my leaves are dying; And well may Autumn sigh, And well may I Who watch the sere leaves flying.

My leaves that fade and fall, I note you one and all; I call you, and the Autumn wind is calling, Lamenting for your fall, And for the pall You spread on earth in falling.

And here's a song of flowers to suit such hours: A song of the last lilies, the last flowers, Amid my withering bowers.

In the sunny garden bed Lilies look so pale, Lilies droop the head In the shady gra.s.sy vale; If all alike they pine In shade and in shine, If everywhere they grieve, Where will lilies live?

[October enters briskly, some leafy twigs bearing different sorts of nuts in one hand, and a long ripe hop-bine trailing after him from the other. A dahlia is stuck in his b.u.t.tonhole.]

_October._

Nay, cheer up, sister. Life is not quite over, Even if the year has done with corn and clover, With flowers and leaves; besides, in fact it's true, Some leaves remain and some flowers too.

For me and you.

Now see my crops:

[Offering his produce to September.

I've brought you nuts and hops; And when the leaf drops, why, the walnut drops.

[October wreaths the hop-bine about September's neck, and gives her the nut twigs. They enter the cottage together, but without shutting the door. She steps into the background: he advances to the hearth, removes the guard, stirs up the smouldering fire, and arranges several chestnuts ready to roast.]

_October._

Crack your first nut and light your first fire, Roast your first chestnut crisp on the bar; Make the logs sparkle, stir the blaze higher; Logs are cheery as sun or as star, Logs we can find wherever we are.

Spring one soft day will open the leaves, Spring one bright day will lure back the flowers; Never fancy my whistling wind grieves, Never fancy I've tears in my showers; Dance, nights and days! and dance on, my hours!

[Sees November approaching.

_October._