James Aldrich.
New-York, June, 1843
[JUNE.]
BY HANS VON SPIEGEL.
Sweet June, the loveliest child of all the year!
With quickened life I hail thy slow return,
And feel my torpid soul within me burn,
As on the hill-side's verdant slope appear
The well-known flowers that mark thy presence near.
And not alone am I in loving thee!
For Nature dons her richest livery
When thou appearest; with a softer blue
The sky pavilions earth; the forest's hue
Is fresher; and the brooks more merrily
Gurgle their slender, changeful melody.
Were there a world where thou didst ever reign,
And I, alone, could reach it. I would fain
Dwell there for aye; nor sigh for earth again!
June, 1843
[CÀ ET LÀ.]
BY THE FLÂNEUR.