In June

 

I'll enter into June's cool house,

Where leaves shade over her spring's run;

Sure, but one thing that breathes, the lark,

Dare now have dealings with the sun;

Embolden'd with such sparkling dews,

He'll do in heaven as he choose.

 

There is a wood, with leafy boughs,

Not too far down the hawthorn lane;

When I am in the sun can knock in vain;

Autumn will bring him by-and-by

Some leafless woods wherein to lie.

 

The little brook beside the road,

Though running oft from shade to shade,

Is warming still; but if I sleep,

Perchance, when in that shaded glade,

The faith is mine that June can keep

Out sun or shower, till ends my sleep.