june.
157
Of time has dimmed its beauty; yet to me
It ever rises with the summer day,
Decked by thy hand in fair and fresh array;
And on its verdant slopes I long to be,
A happy child, as careless and as gay,
As erst in thy bright reign I laughed the hours away.
It ever rises with the summer day,
Decked by thy hand in fair and fresh array;
And on its verdant slopes I long to be,
A happy child, as careless and as gay,
As erst in thy bright reign I laughed the hours away.
