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The passionate humming-birds cling
To the honeysuckles’ hearts;
In and out at the open window
The twittering house-wren darts,
And the sun is bright.
June is young, and warm, and sweet;
The morning is gay and new;
Glimmers yet the grass of the door-yard,
Pearl-gray with fragrant dew,
And the sun is bright.
From the mill, upon the stream,
A busy murmur swells;
On to the pasture go the cattle,
Lowing, with tinkling bells,
And the sun is bright.
She gathers his playthings up,
And dreamily puts them by;
Children are playing in the meadow,
She hears their joyous cry,
And the sun is bright.
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She sits and clasps her brow,
And looks with swollen eyes
On the landscape that reels and dances,––
To herself she softly cries,
And the sun is bright.
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