In the thick of July, the world feels worn out: flowers have faded, some unnamed joys have died, and the garden hangs heavy with the spicy, tired smell of spent gillyflowers. The white-hot sky seems bleached from edge to edge. But in still lakes and rivers, white lilies float cool and content, like starry blossoms transplanted onto a new heavens. They rest there regally, utterly unmoved by the cruelty of the sun’s brazen glare or the stingy clouds that offer no dew. The lily doesn’t thirst or fear—she simply lifts her queenly face, drinking unseen from fresh waters below, and keeps her beauty intact. The speaker’s mood shifts from weary observation to a quiet, admiring awe. The poem leaves you in a calm, almost reverent space, as if the lily’s serene defiance offers a secret refuge from the season’s harshness.
A Calendar of Sonnets: July — Summary
Some flowers are withered and some joys have died; The garden reeks with an East Indian scent From beds where gillyflowers stand weak and spent; The white heat pales the skies from side to side; But in still lakes and rivers, cool, content, Like starry blooms on a new firmament, White lilies float and regally abide. In vain the cruel skies their hot rays shed; The lily does not feel their brazen glare. In vain the pallid clouds refuse to share Their dews, the lily feels no thirst, no dread. Unharmed she lifts her queenly face and head; She drinks of living waters and keeps fair.