But one more month and I shall be
Wrapt in a shadow'd harmony
Of leaves and buds and crinkly moss,
Above me tangled boughs will toss,
   And all about
Unfurl'd for me,
Uncurl'd for me,
  The fern's unhurried rout.
But one more month so soon,
Wait for me, June, my June.

The birds, live cups of singing wine,
Of their tall stems of larch and pine
Will brim for me the glad day long
The solace of their bubbling song.
   The nightingale
Will trill for me,
Will spill for me
   Her shy, exultant grail;
But one more month so soon,
Wait for me, June, my June!

Bring me your revelling fields and woods,
Your hills and lakes of solemn moods;
Gather the stars, fresh pluck'd and sweet,
Scatter them there where we two meet.
   I bring to you
Still near to me,
Still dear to me
My ancient grief still new.
But one more month so soon,
Wait for me, June, my June!