Your heart’s a-tune with April and
mine a-tune with June,
So let us go a-roving beneath the summer
moon:
Oh, was it in the sunlight, or was it
in the rain,
We met among the blossoms within the locust
lane?
All that I can remember’s the bird
that sang aboon,
And with its music in our hearts we’ll
rove beneath the moon.
A love-word of the wind, dear, of which
we’ll read the rune,
While we still go a-roving beneath the
summer moon:
A love-kiss of the water well often stop to hear-
The echoed words and kisses of our own
love, my dear:
And all our path shall blossom with wild-rose
sweets that swoon,
And with their fragrance in our hearts
we’ll rove beneath the moon.
It will not be forever, yet merry goes
the tune
While we still go a-roving beneath the
summer moon:
A cabin, in the clearing, of flickering
firelight
When old-time lanes we strolled in the
winter snows make white:
Where we can nod together above the logs
and croon
The songs we sang when roving beneath
the summer moon.