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Sunrays, leaning on our southern hills
and lighting Wild cloud-mountains that drag the
hills along, Oft ends the day of your shifting brilliant
laughter Chill as a dull face frowning on a song. Ay, but shows the South-West a ripple
feathered bosom Blown to silver while the clouds are
shaken and ascend Scaling the mid-heavens as they stream,
there comes a sunset Rich, deep like love in beauty without
All the girls are out with their baskets
for the primrose; Up lanes, woods through, they troop
in joyful bands. My sweet leads: she knows not why, but
now she loiters, Eyes the bent anemones, and hangs
her hands. Such a look will tell that the violets are
peeping, Coming the rose: and unaware a cry Springs in her bosom for odours and for
colour, Covert and the nightingale; she knows
Jasmine winds the porch with stars two
and three. Parted is the window; she sleeps; the
starry jasmine Breathes a falling breath that carries
thoughts of me. Sweeter unpossessed, have I said of her
my sweetest? Not while she sleeps: while she sleeps
the jasmine breathes, Luring her to love; she sleeps; the starry
jasmine Bears me to her pillow under white
Front door and back of the mossed old
farmhouse Open with the morn, and in a breezy
link Freshly sparkles garden to stripe-shad
owed orchard, Green across a rill where on sand the
minnows wink. Busy in the grass the early sun of summer Swarms, and the blackbird's mellow
fluting notes Call my darling up with round and ro
guish challenge: Quaintest, richest carol of all the sing
Cool was the woodside; cool as her white Large and smoky red the sun's cold disk dairy
drops, Keeping sweet the cream-pan; and Clipped by naked hills, on violet shaded
there the boys from school, Cricketing below, rushed brown and red Eastward large and still lights up a bower with sunshine;
of moonrise, O the dark translucence of the deep- Whence at her leisure steps the moon eyed cool !
aglow. Spying from the farm, herself she fetched Nightlong on black print-branches our a pitcher
beech-tree Full of milk, and tilted for each in turn Gazes in this whiteness: nightlong the beak,
could I. Then a little fellow, mouth up and on tip- Here may life on death or death on life toe,
be painted. Said, "I will kiss you'': she laughed and Let me clasp her soul to know she canleaned her cheek.
Doves of the fir-wood walling high our
red roof Through the long noon coo, crooning Gossips count her faults; they scour a through the coo.
narrow chamber Loose droop the leaves, and down the
Where there is no window, read not sleepy roadway
heaven or her. Sometimes pipes a chaffinch; loose
“When she was a tiny,” one aged woman droops the blue.
quavers, Cows flap a slow tail knee-deep in the
Plucks at my heart and leads me by
Breathless, given up to sun and gnat
and fly. Nowhere is she seen; and if I see her
nowhere, Lightning may come, straight rains
and tiger sky.
Faults she had once as she learnt to run
and tumbled : Faults of feature some see, beauty not
complete. Yet, good gossips, beauty that makes holy Earth and air, may have faults from
head to feet.
Hither she comes; she comes to me;
she lingers, O the golden sheaf, the rustling treasure- Deepens her brown eyebrows, while armful !
in new surprise O the nutbrown tresses nodding inter- High rise the lashes in wonder of a stranlaced !
ger; O the treasure-tresses one another over Yet am I the light and living of her Nodding! O the girdle slack about
eyes. the waist!
Something friends have told her fills her Slain are the poppies that shot their ran
heart to brimming, dom scarlet
Nets her in her blushes, and wounds her, Quick amid the wheatears: wound
and tames. about the waist,
Sure of her haven, O like a dove alighting, Gathered, see these brides of Earth one Arms up, she dropped: our souls were blush of ripeness,
in our names. O the nutbrown tresses nodding inter
Soon will she lie like a white frost sunrise.
THE LARK ASCENDING Yellow oats and brown wheat, barley pale as rye,
He rises and begins to round, Long since your sheeves have yielded to He drops the silver chain of sound, the thresher,
Of many links without a break,
All intervolved and spreading wide,
And eddy into eddy whirls;
A press of hurried notes that run the truants,
So fleet they scarce are more than one, Nightingale and swallow, song and Yet changeingly the trills repeat dipping wing.
And linger ringing while they fleet,
To her beyond the handmaid ear,
Too often dry for this he brings, Spreading bough on bough a primrose Which seems the very jet of earth. mountain, you
At sight of sun, her music's mirth, Lucid in the moon, raise lilies to the sky- As up he wings the spiral stair, fields,
A song of light, and pierces air Youngest green transfused in silver
With fountain ardour, fountain play, shining through:
To reach the shining tops of day, Fairer than the lily, than the wild white
And drink in everything discerned cherry:
An ecstasy to music turned, Fair as in image my seraph love ap- Impelled by what his happy bill pears
Disperses; drinking, showering still, Borne to me by dreams when dawn is
Unthinking save that he may give at my eyelids :
His voice the outlet, there to live Fair as in the flesh she swims to me on
Renewed in endless notes of glee,
So thirsty of his voice is he,
Through pureness filtered crystal-clear, Could I find a place to be alone with And know the pleasure sprinkled bright heaven,
By simple singing of delight, I would speak my heart out: heaven Shrill, irreflective, unrestrained, is my need.
Rapt, ringing, on the jet sustained Every woodland tree is flushing like the Without a break, without a fall, dogwood,
Sweet-silvery, sheer lyrical, Flashing like the whitebeam, swaying Perennial, quavering up the chord like the reed,
Like myriad dews of sunny sward Flushing like the dogwood crimson in That trembling into fulness shine, October;
And sparkle dropping argentine; Streaming like the flag-reed South- Such wooing as the ear receives West blown;
From zephyr caught in choric leaves Flashing as in gusts the sudden-lighted Of aspens when their chattering net whitebeam:
Is flushed to white with shivers wet; All seem to know what is for heaven And such the water-spirit's chime alone.
On mountain heights in morning's prime,
Too freshly sweet to seem excess,
Whose lives, by many a battle-dint Defaced, and grinding wheels on flint, Yield substance, though they sing not,
THE WOODS OF WESTERMAIN
For singing till his heaven fills,
The wedding song of sun and rains
You who dare.
heart up with the lark, Foot at peace with mouse and worm,
Fair you fare.
Have you by the hair.
You who dare.
Here the snake across your path
Yet men have we, whom we revere, Now names, and men still housing here,