It is the month of June, The month of leaves and roses, When pleasant sights salute the eyes, And pleasant scents the noses.
I love to go and mingle with the young In the gay festal room--when every heart Is beating faster than the merry tune, And their blue eyes are restless, and their lips Parted with eager joy, and their round cheeks Flush'd with the beautiful motion of the dance.
A lamp is lit in woman's eye; that souls, else lost on earth, remember angels by.
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