The Junes were free and full, driving through tiny
Roads, the mudguards brushing the cowparsley,
Through fields of mustard and under boldly embattled
Mays and chestnuts
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A melancholy write in a depiction of advancing age with a back dropp of clouds that silouette the lightning flashes and he seems happy if death should come which he apparently waits for.
Read this aloud yourself and let the beauty evoked speak to you. Do not listen to the poem. The reader recites the poem in a deadening voice that represses beauty.