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Blue be the sky and soft the breeze
A poem about June
William Cullen Bryant
June
- I gazed upon the glorious sky
- And the green mountains round,
- And thought that when I came to lie
- At rest within the ground,
- ’Twere pleasant, that in flowery June,
- When brooks send up a cheerful tune,
- And groves a joyous sound,
- The sexton’s hand, my grave to make,
- The rich, green mountain-turf should break.
- A cell within the frozen mould,
- A coffin borne through sleet,
- And icy clods above it rolled,
- While fierce the tempests beat —
- Away! — I will not think of these —
- Blue be the sky and soft the breeze,
- Earth green beneath the feet,
- And be the damp mould gently pressed
- Into my narrow place of rest.
- There through the long, long summer hours,
- The golden light should lie,
- And thick young herbs and groups of flowers
- Stand in their beauty by.
- The oriole should build and tell
- His love-tale close beside my cell;
- The idle butterfly
- Should rest him there, and there be heard
- The housewife bee and humming-bird.
- And what if cheerful shouts at noon
- Come, from the village sent,
- Or songs of maids, beneath the moon
- With fairy laughter blent?
- And what if, in the evening light,
- Betrothed lovers walk in sight
- Of my low monument?
- I would the lovely scene around
- Might know no sadder sight nor sound.
- I know that I no more should see
- The season’s glorious show,
- Nor would its brightness shine for me,
- Nor its wild music flow;
- But if, around my place of sleep,
- The friends I love should come to weep,
- They might not haste to go.
- Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom
- Should keep them lingering by my tomb.
- These to their softened hearts should bear
- The thought of what has been,
- And speak of one who cannot share
- The gladness of the scene;
- Whose part, in all the pomp that fills
- The circuit of the summer hills,
- Is that his grave is green;
- And deeply would their hearts rejoice
- To hear again his living voice.
William Cullen Bryant (1794–1878) was an American poet of the Romantic movement, a journalist, and longtime editor of the New York Evening Post. Although often grouped with the New England poets (Emerson, Lowell, et al.), Bryant was in fact a thorough New Yorker and spent most of his literary efforts in forging a national, rather than a regional, literature. Thanks in part to his influence, the Big Apple created two of its major landmarks, Central Park and the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Blue be the sky and soft the breeze
A poem about June
Blue be the sky and soft the breeze
A poem about June
William Cullen Bryant
June
- I gazed upon the glorious sky
- And the green mountains round,
- And thought that when I came to lie
- At rest within the ground,
- ’Twere pleasant, that in flowery June,
- When brooks send up a cheerful tune,
- And groves a joyous sound,
- The sexton’s hand, my grave to make,
- The rich, green mountain-turf should break.
- A cell within the frozen mould,
- A coffin borne through sleet,
- And icy clods above it rolled,
- While fierce the tempests beat —
- Away! — I will not think of these —
- Blue be the sky and soft the breeze,
- Earth green beneath the feet,
- And be the damp mould gently pressed
- Into my narrow place of rest.
- There through the long, long summer hours,
- The golden light should lie,
- And thick young herbs and groups of flowers
- Stand in their beauty by.
- The oriole should build and tell
- His love-tale close beside my cell;
- The idle butterfly
- Should rest him there, and there be heard
- The housewife bee and humming-bird.
- And what if cheerful shouts at noon
- Come, from the village sent,
- Or songs of maids, beneath the moon
- With fairy laughter blent?
- And what if, in the evening light,
- Betrothed lovers walk in sight
- Of my low monument?
- I would the lovely scene around
- Might know no sadder sight nor sound.
- I know that I no more should see
- The season’s glorious show,
- Nor would its brightness shine for me,
- Nor its wild music flow;
- But if, around my place of sleep,
- The friends I love should come to weep,
- They might not haste to go.
- Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom
- Should keep them lingering by my tomb.
- These to their softened hearts should bear
- The thought of what has been,
- And speak of one who cannot share
- The gladness of the scene;
- Whose part, in all the pomp that fills
- The circuit of the summer hills,
- Is that his grave is green;
- And deeply would their hearts rejoice
- To hear again his living voice.
William Cullen Bryant (1794–1878) was an American poet of the Romantic movement, a journalist, and longtime editor of the New York Evening Post. Although often grouped with the New England poets (Emerson, Lowell, et al.), Bryant was in fact a thorough New Yorker and spent most of his literary efforts in forging a national, rather than a regional, literature. Thanks in part to his influence, the Big Apple created two of its major landmarks, Central Park and the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
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