June

June falls asleep upon her bier of flowers;
In vain are dewdrops sprinkled o'er her,
In vain read more

June falls asleep upon her bier of flowers;
In vain are dewdrops sprinkled o'er her,
In vain would fond winds fan her back to life,
Her hours are numbered on the floral dial.

And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then read more

And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays.

No price is set on the lavish summer;
June may be had by the poorest comer.

No price is set on the lavish summer;
June may be had by the poorest comer.

So sweet, so sweet the roses in their blowing,
So sweet the daffodils, so fair to see;
read more

So sweet, so sweet the roses in their blowing,
So sweet the daffodils, so fair to see;
So blithe and gay the humming-bird a going
From flower to flower, a-hunting with the bee.

It is the month of June,
The month of leaves and roses,
When pleasant sights salute the read more

It is the month of June,
The month of leaves and roses,
When pleasant sights salute the eyes
And pleasant scents the noses.

Do you recall that night in June
Upon the Danube River;
We listened to the landler-tune,
read more

Do you recall that night in June
Upon the Danube River;
We listened to the landler-tune,
We watched the moonbeams quiver.

What joy have I in June's return?
My feet are parched--my eyeballs burn,
I scent no flowery read more

What joy have I in June's return?
My feet are parched--my eyeballs burn,
I scent no flowery gust;
But faint the flagging zephyr springs,
With dry Macadam on its wings,
And turns me "dust to dust."

Who comes with Summer to this earth
And owes to June her day of birth,
With ring read more

Who comes with Summer to this earth
And owes to June her day of birth,
With ring of Agate on her hand,
Can health, wealth, and long life command.

I gazed upon the glorious sky
And the green mountains round,
And thought that when I came read more

I gazed upon the glorious sky
And the green mountains round,
And thought that when I came to lie
At rest within the ground,
'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June
When brooks send up a cheerful tune,
And groves a joyous sound,
The sexton's hand, my grave to make,
The rich, green mountain-turf should break.