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TO THE SWEETHEART JUNE.
HERE's to my love, and here's to my dove,
And here's to my darling and dear;
From the dew of the rose, as it bourgeons and blows,
I will drink to my sweetheart here.
With the eyes of a lover, I watch her come over
The crest of the purple hills;
My pulses beat at the sound of her feet,
Along by the rivers and rills.
For at ever so light a touch, or so slight,
A tuneful song doth arise,
And as ever so swift the waters drift,
They catch the blue of her eyes.
