The Rambling Sailor/June, 1915

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June, 1915
WHO thinks of June's first rose to-day?  Only some child, perhaps, with shining eyes and rough bright hair will reach it downIn a green sunny lane, to us almost as far away  As are the fearless stars from these veiled lamps of town.  What's little June to a great broken world with eyes gone dim  From too much looking on the face of grief, the face of dread?    Or what's the broken world to June and him  Of the small eager hand, the shining eyes, the rough bright head?


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