June

    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 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.

    A cell within the frozen mould 10

    A coffin borne through sleet

    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 softened 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.