RONDEAU
A Sunday-calm, ornate, profound,Enchanting sense, subduing sound,Enjoins its ritual to prepare;The day is bland with unctuous prayerThat leaps to heaven at a bound.And bells ope throats in mellow roundOf sweet antiphonal resound,And virtue glistens everywhere—A Sunday-calm.Draw breath! Away to virgin ground!But where the fields are flower-crownedThe cattle with self-conscious stareChide my undeprecative air,—Good heavens! Can they too have foundA Sunday-calm?
A Sunday-calm, ornate, profound,Enchanting sense, subduing sound,Enjoins its ritual to prepare;The day is bland with unctuous prayerThat leaps to heaven at a bound.And bells ope throats in mellow roundOf sweet antiphonal resound,And virtue glistens everywhere—A Sunday-calm.Draw breath! Away to virgin ground!But where the fields are flower-crownedThe cattle with self-conscious stareChide my undeprecative air,—Good heavens! Can they too have foundA Sunday-calm?
A Sunday-calm, ornate, profound,Enchanting sense, subduing sound,Enjoins its ritual to prepare;The day is bland with unctuous prayerThat leaps to heaven at a bound.
A Sunday-calm, ornate, profound,
Enchanting sense, subduing sound,
Enjoins its ritual to prepare;
The day is bland with unctuous prayer
That leaps to heaven at a bound.
And bells ope throats in mellow roundOf sweet antiphonal resound,And virtue glistens everywhere—A Sunday-calm.
And bells ope throats in mellow round
Of sweet antiphonal resound,
And virtue glistens everywhere—
A Sunday-calm.
Draw breath! Away to virgin ground!But where the fields are flower-crownedThe cattle with self-conscious stareChide my undeprecative air,—Good heavens! Can they too have foundA Sunday-calm?
Draw breath! Away to virgin ground!
But where the fields are flower-crowned
The cattle with self-conscious stare
Chide my undeprecative air,—
Good heavens! Can they too have found
A Sunday-calm?