’Tis as though Italy’s heaven smiled
In the face of some bleak Norwegian wild;
And the heart in me sings—I know not why—
’Tis winter on earth, but June in the sky!
June in the sky! Ah, now I can see
The souls of roses about to be,
In gardens of heaven beckoning me,
Roses red-lipped, and roses pale,
Fanned by the tremulous ether gale!
Some of them climbing a window-ledge,