⁠Of June's rejoicing morn;
And who with unregretful eyes
Can watch the lustre leave its skies
⁠To twilight's shade forlorn?

Then art thou not my golden June,
⁠All mist and tempest free?
As shines earth's sun in summer noon
⁠So heaven's sun shines in thee.

Let others seek its beams divine
⁠In cell and cloister drear;
But I have found a fairer shrine
⁠And happier worship here.

By dismal rites they win their bliss,
⁠By penance, fasts and fears;
I have one rite—a gentle kiss;
⁠One penance—tender tears.

O could it thus for ever be,
⁠That I might so adore;
I'd ask for all eternity,
To make a paradise for me,
⁠My love and nothing more.

July 28, 1843.