In June

SO sweet, so sweet the roses in their blowing,
So sweet the daffodils, so fair to see ;
So blithe and gay the humming-bird a-going
From flower to flower, a-hunting with the bee.
So sweet, so sweet the calling of the thrushes,
The calling, cooing, wooing, everywhere ;
So sweet the water’s song through reeds and rushes,
The plover’s piping note, now here, now there.
So sweet, so sweet from off the fields of clover,
The west-wind blowing, blowing up the hill ;
So sweet, so sweet with news of some one’s lover,
Fleet footsteps, ringing nearer, nearer still.
So near, so near, now listen, listen, thrushes ;
Now plover, blackbird, cease, and let me hear ;
And water, hush your song through reeds and rushes,
That I may know whose lover cometh near.
So loud, so loud the thrushes kept their calling,
Plover or blackbird never heeding me ;
So loud the mill-stream too kept fretting, falling,
O’er bar and bank, in brawling, boisterous glee.
So loud, so loud ; yet blackbird, thrush, nor plover,
Nor noisy mill-stream, in its fret and fall,
Could drown the voice, the low voice of my lover,
My lover calling through the thrushes’ call.
“ Come down, come down ! ” he called, and straight the thrushes
From mate to mate sang all at once, “ Come down ! ”
And while the water laughed through reeds and rushes,
The blackbird chirped, the plover piped, “ Come down ! ”
Then down and off, and through the fields of clover,
I followed, followed, at my lover’s call;
Listening no more to blackbird, thrush, or plover,
The water’s laugh, the mill-stream’s fret and fall.