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 sextons hand, my grave to make, The rich, green mountain-turf should break. BryantJune.
What joy have I in Junes return? My feet are parchedmy 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. HoodTown and Country. Ode Imitated from Horace.
June falls asleep upon her bier of flowers; In vain are dewdrops sprinkled oer her, In vain would fond winds fan her back to life, Her hours are numbered on the floral dial. Lucy LarcomDeath of June. L. 1.