English poem
June
by Amy Levy (1861–1889)
Last June I saw your face three times; Three times I touched your hand; Now, as before, May month is o’er, And June is in the land.
O many Junes shall come and go, Flow’r-footed o’er the mead; O many Junes for me, to whom Is length of days decreed.
There shall be sunlight, scent of rose, Warm mist of summer rain; Only this change—I shall not look Upon your face again.