Explore "To June" by George MacDonald on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Ah, truant, thou art here again, I see!
For in a season of such wretched weather / I thought that thou hadst left us altogether, / Although I could not choose but fancy thee / Skulking about the hill-tops, whence the glee / Of thy blue laughter peeped at times, or rather / Thy bashful awkwardness, as doubtful whether / Thou shouldst be seen in such a company / Of ugly runaways, unshapely heaps / Of ruffian vapour, broken from restraint / Of their slim prison in the ocean deeps.
But yet I may not chide: fall to thy books -- / Fall to immediately without complaint -- / There they are lying, hills and vales and brooks.