From"A PRELUDE"
O COVERING grasses! O unchanging trees!Is it not good to feel the odorous windCome down upon you with such harmoniesOnly the giant hills can ever find?O little leaves, are ye not glad to be?Is not the sunlight fair, the shadow kind,That falls at noontide over you and me?O gleam of birches lost among the firs,Let your high treble chime in silverlyAcross the half-imagined wind that stirsA muffled organ-music from the pines!Earth knows to-day that not one note of hersIs minor. For, behold, the loud sun shinesTill the young maples are no longer gray,And stronger grows their faint, uncertain lines;Each violet takes a deeper blue to-day,And purpler swell the cones hung overhead,Until the sound of their far feet who strayAbout the wood, fades from me; and, instead,I hear a robin singing—not as oneThat calls unto his mate, uncomforted—But as one sings a welcome to the sun.
O COVERING grasses! O unchanging trees!Is it not good to feel the odorous windCome down upon you with such harmoniesOnly the giant hills can ever find?O little leaves, are ye not glad to be?Is not the sunlight fair, the shadow kind,That falls at noontide over you and me?O gleam of birches lost among the firs,Let your high treble chime in silverlyAcross the half-imagined wind that stirsA muffled organ-music from the pines!Earth knows to-day that not one note of hersIs minor. For, behold, the loud sun shinesTill the young maples are no longer gray,And stronger grows their faint, uncertain lines;Each violet takes a deeper blue to-day,And purpler swell the cones hung overhead,Until the sound of their far feet who strayAbout the wood, fades from me; and, instead,I hear a robin singing—not as oneThat calls unto his mate, uncomforted—But as one sings a welcome to the sun.
O COVERING grasses! O unchanging trees!Is it not good to feel the odorous windCome down upon you with such harmonies
O COVERING grasses! O unchanging trees!
Is it not good to feel the odorous wind
Come down upon you with such harmonies
Only the giant hills can ever find?O little leaves, are ye not glad to be?Is not the sunlight fair, the shadow kind,
Only the giant hills can ever find?
O little leaves, are ye not glad to be?
Is not the sunlight fair, the shadow kind,
That falls at noontide over you and me?O gleam of birches lost among the firs,Let your high treble chime in silverly
That falls at noontide over you and me?
O gleam of birches lost among the firs,
Let your high treble chime in silverly
Across the half-imagined wind that stirsA muffled organ-music from the pines!Earth knows to-day that not one note of hers
Across the half-imagined wind that stirs
A muffled organ-music from the pines!
Earth knows to-day that not one note of hers
Is minor. For, behold, the loud sun shinesTill the young maples are no longer gray,And stronger grows their faint, uncertain lines;
Is minor. For, behold, the loud sun shines
Till the young maples are no longer gray,
And stronger grows their faint, uncertain lines;
Each violet takes a deeper blue to-day,And purpler swell the cones hung overhead,Until the sound of their far feet who stray
Each violet takes a deeper blue to-day,
And purpler swell the cones hung overhead,
Until the sound of their far feet who stray
About the wood, fades from me; and, instead,I hear a robin singing—not as oneThat calls unto his mate, uncomforted—But as one sings a welcome to the sun.
About the wood, fades from me; and, instead,
I hear a robin singing—not as one
That calls unto his mate, uncomforted—
But as one sings a welcome to the sun.