LAY thy heart down upon the warm, soft breast,
Of June and take thy rest;
The world is full of cares that never cease,
The air is full of peace.

Lie thou, my heart, beneath the burnished leaves;
What though the sad world grieves?
Is not the green earth joyous and at play
Upon this bright June day?

Yet eager dost thou watch the building birds,
The busy brooding herds,
The pauseless journey of the sunlit days,
The joy that never stays.

O heart for whom the summer days are bright,
Wouldst thou, too, gather light?
Art thou astir with every leaf that moves,
And the first bird that roves?

Art thou abroad with the white morning star
Scaling the heights afar?
Ceaselessly mounting, O thou heart, some hill,
The springs of life to fill?

As midnight to the dawn, as dark to day,
As sun and shade at play,
So do the hours exchange and tempests tune
Their awful harps in June.

This is the hour when buds prepare to break,
When blossoms fruitage take;
This is the hour of breathing ere the heat
O'ertake our wearied feet.