I am shut in as June goes by,
And can but see one little tree
Tossing its new leaves to the sky
With the old ecstasy.
And of the sky itself I see
Only a curving arc of blue,
That brings the larkspur dawn to me
And holds the evening true.
I am shut in as June goes by,
But every day you come to me,
And I am glad to lose the sky
And every dancing tree.
