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I block the roads, and drift the fields with snow ;

I chase the wild-fowl from the frozen fen; My frosts congeal the rivers in their flow,

My fires light up the hearths and hearts of

My brow is crowned with branches of the

pine ; Before my chariot-wheels the fishes glide. By me all things unclean are purified, By me the souls of men washed white MAY. Hark! The sea-faring wild-fowl loud proclaim

again; E'en the unlovely tombs of those who died Without a dirge, I cleanse from every

stain.

men.

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My coming, and the swarming of the bees. These are my heralds, and behold! my name Is written in blossoms on the hawthorn

trees. I tell the mariner when to sail the seas;

I waft o'er all the land from far away The breath and bloom of the Hesperides,

My birthplace. I am Maia. I am May.

MARCH. I Martius am! Once first, and now the third !

To lead the Year was my appointed place; A mortal dispossessed me by a word,

And set there Janus with the double face. Hence I make war on all the human race;

I shake the cities with my hurricanes;
I flood the rivers and their banks efface,
And drown the farms and hamlets with my
rains.

APRIL.
I open wide the portals of the Spring

To welcome the procession of the flowers. With their gay banners, and the birds that

sing Their song

of songs from their aerial towers, I soften with my sunshine and my showers The heart of earth; with thoughts of love

I glide Into the hearts of men; and with the Hours

Upon the Bull with wreathèd horns I ride.

JUNE. Mine is the Month of Roses; yes, and mine

The Month of Marriages! All pleasant sights And scents, the fragrance of the blossoming

vine, The foliage of the valleys and the heights. Mine are the longest days, the loveliest nights;

The mower's scythe makes music to my ear: I am the mother of all dear delights;

I am the fairest daughter of the year.

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SEPTEMBER. I bear the Scales, where hang in equipoise

The night and day; and when unto my lips I put my trumpet, with its stress and noise Fly the white clouds like tattered sails of

ships ; The tree-tops lash the air with sounding whips; Southward the clamorous sea-fowl wing their

flight; The hedges are all red with haws and hips, The Hunter's Moon reigns empress of the

night.

DECEMBER. Riding upon the Goat, with snow-white hair, I come, the last of all.

the last of all. This crown of mine Is of the holly ; in my hand I bear The thyrsus, tipped with fragrant cones of

pine. I celebrate the birth of the Divine,

And the return of the Saturnian reign ;My songs are carols sung at every shrine, Proclaiming “ Peace on earth, good will to

men.'

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