JUNE.

When the low south wind

Breathes over the trees

With a murmur soft

As the sound of the seas;

And the calm cold moon

From her mystic height,

Like a sybil looks

On the voiceless night—

’Tis June, bright June!

When the brooks have voice

Like a seraph fair,

And the songs of birds

Fill the balmy air,

When the wild flowers bloom

In the wood and dell

And we feel as if lapt

In a magic spell—

’Tis June, bright June!

A. A. I.

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