June - a poem by William Cullen Bryant

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.