And that sweet City with her dreaming spires, She needs not June for beauty's heightening.
O my Luve's like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June; O my luve's like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my Dear, Till a'the seas gang dry. Till a'the seas gang dry, my Dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun: O I will love thee still, my Dear, While the sands o' life shall run.
And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever come perfect days.
Jolly June, arrayed All in green leaves, as he a Player were.
Their meetings made December June, Their every parting was to die.
Yes; I remember Adlestrop The name, because one afternoon Of heat the express-train drew up there Unwontedly. It was late June.
Webster's New World Dictionary of Quotations Copyright © 2010 by Chambers Harrap Publishers Ltd. All rights reserved. Published by Wiley, Hoboken, NJ. Used by arrangement with John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
Learn more about June