June

　　I GAZED upon the glorious sky

　　And the green mountains round

　　And thought that when I came to lie

　　At rest within the ground

　　'T were pleasant that in flowery June 5

　　When brooks¹ send up a cheerful tune²

　　And groves³ a joyous⁴ sound

　　The sexton's hand my grave to make

　　The rich green mountain-turf should break.

　　A cell within the frozen mould 10

　　A coffin⁵ borne through sleet⁶

　　And icy clods above it rolled

　　While fierce the tempests beat—

　　Away!—I will not think of these—

　　Blue be the sky and soft the breeze 15

　　Earth green beneath the feet

　　And be the damp mould gently pressed

　　Into my narrow place of rest.

　　There through the long long summer hours

　　The golden light should lie 20

　　And thick young herbs and groups of flowers

　　Stand in their beauty by.

　　The oriole should build and tell

　　His love-tale close beside my cell;

　　The idle butterfly 25

　　Should rest him there and there be heard

　　The housewife bee and humming-bird.

　　And what if cheerful shouts at noon

　　Come from the village sent

　　Or song of maids beneath the moon 30

　　With fairy laughter blent?

　　And what if in the evening light

　　Betrothèd lovers walk in sight

　　Of my low monument?

　　I would the lovely scene around 35

　　Might know no sadder sight nor sound.

　　I know that I no more should see

　　The season's glorious show

　　Nor would its brightness shine for me

　　Nor its wild music flow; 40

　　But if around my place of sleep

　　The friends I love should come to weep

　　They might not haste to go.

　　Soft airs and song and light and bloom

　　Should keep them lingering by my tomb. 45

　　These to their softened⁷ hearts should bear

　　The thought of what has been

　　And speak of one who cannot share

　　The gladness of the scene;

　　Whose part in all the pomp that fills 50

　　The circuit of the summer hills

　　Is that his grave is green;

　　And deeply would their hearts rejoice

　　To hear again his living voice.

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