Noon

The bees are humming, humming in the clover;

The bobolink is singing in the rye;

The brook is purling, purling in the valley,

And the river's laughing, radiant, to the sky.

The buttercups are nodding in the sunlight;

The wind is whisp'ring, whisp'ring to the pine;

The joy of June has found me, as an aureole it's crowned me

Because, oh best belovèd, you are mine!