Ah, silver and gold of the glad June morning —
Gold of the sunshine and silver of dew,
Dew drop gems all the meads adorning —
Are love and the rose-time a theme for scorning?
Roses, roses,— dream not of rue!
Am I not loved by you?
Antiphonal to sweet sylvan singers,
The brook with its maddening, gladdening rune!
And my lover's kiss still thrills and lingers,
Lingers and burns on my tremulous fingers!
Ah, birds in a very riot of tune
Pour out my joy to the heart of June!
He loves me — loves me! My heart is singing.—
( Heart, oh heart of my heart is it true? )
Song on my lips from my soul upringing,
A passion of bliss to the breezes flinging,
Roses, roses — nor dream of rue!
I am beloved by you.