I would not die in Summer time 
When hearts are light and free, 
And joy is borne from every clime 
O'er mountain, stream and lea. 
I would not leave the friends I know, 
Beguiled of hope and cheer, 
To lose in burning tears of woe 
The glad time of the year. 

Oh! no, I would not pass away 
When from the  leafy grove, 
The red bird carols all the day 
Its song of joy and love; 
When merry warblers trill their notes 
From every bush and tree, 
And on the breeze, an anthem floats 
Of heaven-born melody. 

I would not die in Summertime, 
And lie within the tomb, 
When blushing fruits are in their prime, 
And fields are in their bloom; 
For I would reap the yellow grain 
And bind it in the sheeves; 
Then die when Autumn winds complain 
Among the blighted leaves.