Oh, balmy night—a night in June—

What endless beauties thine!

Hast thou a balm thou'lt gently breathe

O'er tired souls like mine?

The cricket 'neath the old porch floor

Chirps forth a merry lay;

The roses nod and smile at me—

"A sweet good-night," they say.

Oh, cricket, hush your merry song;

How can you be so gay?

Ye roses bow your crimson heads,

And mourn my vanished day.