A red rose in my lady's hair,
A white rose in her fingers,
A wild bird singing low, somewhere,
A song that pulses, lingers.
The sound of dancing and of mirth,
The fiddle's merry chiming,
A smell of earth, of fresh, warm earth,
And honeysuckle climbing;
My lady near, yet far away —
Ah, lonely June of yesterday!
A big white night of velvet sky,
And Milky Way a-gleaming,
The fragrant blue smoke drifting by
From camp-fire brightly beaming;
The stillness of the Northland far —
God's solitudes of splendor —
My road a trail, my chart a star.
Wind,‘ mong the balsams slender,
Sing low: O glad June of to-day,
My lady's near, though far away!