A SONG IN A LANE
When the Wind comes up the laneAnd you go down—The elms their spacious branches swing,The hidden hedgelings sing and sing,The nettle draws aside his stingAnd kindly weeds their shadows flingAcross your sunny gown;—When the Wind comes up the laneAnd you go down.When the Wind comes up the laneAnd you go down—Your tresses, for a gusty space,Discover all your merry faceAnd the Wind drops with pinioned graceTo kiss the small white forehead placeAbove your summer brown;—When the Wind comes up the laneAnd you go down.
When the Wind comes up the laneAnd you go down—The elms their spacious branches swing,The hidden hedgelings sing and sing,The nettle draws aside his stingAnd kindly weeds their shadows flingAcross your sunny gown;—When the Wind comes up the laneAnd you go down.When the Wind comes up the laneAnd you go down—Your tresses, for a gusty space,Discover all your merry faceAnd the Wind drops with pinioned graceTo kiss the small white forehead placeAbove your summer brown;—When the Wind comes up the laneAnd you go down.
When the Wind comes up the laneAnd you go down—The elms their spacious branches swing,The hidden hedgelings sing and sing,The nettle draws aside his stingAnd kindly weeds their shadows flingAcross your sunny gown;—When the Wind comes up the laneAnd you go down.
When the Wind comes up the laneAnd you go down—Your tresses, for a gusty space,Discover all your merry faceAnd the Wind drops with pinioned graceTo kiss the small white forehead placeAbove your summer brown;—When the Wind comes up the laneAnd you go down.