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.