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.