The poet who wrote about "golden Junes" must have been thinking about Tuesday. That was when clouds and rain gave way to a sun that gilded the trees outside our window, glowed on clusters of conversation in the streets, and tempted a person here and there to lie flat out on the gleaming grass.
Was the sunshine all the brighter because of the gray that went before? Don't bother us with theories on a day in June. Catch the rays when they're there. The gold standard of s ummer is not only for poets.