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.