Poems By William Bell Scott |
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Poems | ||
24
VI.
How fresh the breeze is everywhere!
How blossom out the flowers so fair!
The primrose and the daffodil,
And mignonette scenting the household air,
Over the narrow sill.
The wind has softer wings than e'er
Were felt before! the flowers appear
Than any other flowers more bright,
Like angel eyes so wide and clear.
From whence this dear delight?
How blossom out the flowers so fair!
The primrose and the daffodil,
And mignonette scenting the household air,
Over the narrow sill.
The wind has softer wings than e'er
Were felt before! the flowers appear
Than any other flowers more bright,
Like angel eyes so wide and clear.
From whence this dear delight?
The window looks unto the west
O'er placarded walls: oh, blest
Is every stone and every seam!
And every chimney smoke caressed
Is but a pleasant dream!
The errand boy comes whistling by,
And sits down on the kerbstone nigh!
Blithe as an infant-god
Who never might either grow old or die,
In spite of his weary load.
O'er placarded walls: oh, blest
Is every stone and every seam!
And every chimney smoke caressed
Is but a pleasant dream!
The errand boy comes whistling by,
And sits down on the kerbstone nigh!
Blithe as an infant-god
25
In spite of his weary load.
“Will you take a little wine?”
“Whatever you like shall be mine.”
The air is sweet and mild indeed;
These market-men are scarce divine!
Is it true a lamb can bleed?
Are there footsteps on the stair?
Is the sun in the noonday air?
Maryanne! you are so still,
Yours is sure a happy share
In this sweet, sweet world of ill.
“Whatever you like shall be mine.”
The air is sweet and mild indeed;
These market-men are scarce divine!
Is it true a lamb can bleed?
Are there footsteps on the stair?
Is the sun in the noonday air?
Maryanne! you are so still,
Yours is sure a happy share
In this sweet, sweet world of ill.
Poems | ||