To June

MONTH of the perfect love,
Month of the perfect leaf; —
The mellow-mourning dove
Thine only note of grief, —
Oh, let me hide within thy shade a sorrow past relief!

Thou, unto whose employ
All Nature's arts belong —
Fragrance and warmth and joy:
Admit me to thy throng.
Thou canst not dull the pang, but oh! tune every chord to song!
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