Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
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Summer Idleness.
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 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
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Summer Idleness.
Under a “roof of pine,”
To hear the ringdove brood,
With the sorrow of love long past,
Thrilling the listening wood;
Deep 'mid the clustering firs,
Where the nightingale sings all day,
To hide in the darkness sweet,
Where the sunbeam finds no way.
To hear the ringdove brood,
With the sorrow of love long past,
Thrilling the listening wood;
Deep 'mid the clustering firs,
Where the nightingale sings all day,
To hide in the darkness sweet,
Where the sunbeam finds no way.
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To ramble from field to field,
Where the poppy is all on flame,
All but the little black coal
At its core, that's still the same;
And where the “speedwell” blue
Cheers with its two kind words,
And the wild rose burns with a blush
At the flattery of the birds.
Where the poppy is all on flame,
All but the little black coal
At its core, that's still the same;
And where the “speedwell” blue
Cheers with its two kind words,
And the wild rose burns with a blush
At the flattery of the birds.
To bask on a grassy cliff,
Lazily watching the sail,
The blue plains of the deeper sea,
And the shallows emerald pale;
The breezes' rippling track,
And the sea-birds flickering white
Athwart the rosy cloud,
And under the golden light.
Lazily watching the sail,
The blue plains of the deeper sea,
And the shallows emerald pale;
The breezes' rippling track,
And the sea-birds flickering white
Athwart the rosy cloud,
And under the golden light.
In the haycock sweet and dry,
To lazily nestle down,
When half the field is grey and shorn,
And half the field waves brown;
'Mid the clumps of purple thyme,
When the evening sky is red,
To lie and rest on the flowers,
One's Epicurean head.
To lazily nestle down,
When half the field is grey and shorn,
And half the field waves brown;
'Mid the clumps of purple thyme,
When the evening sky is red,
To lie and rest on the flowers,
One's Epicurean head.
Or better, amid the corn
To turn on one's lazy back,
And see the lark upborne
Over the drifting wrack;
To hear the field-mouse run
To its nest in the swinging stalk,
And see the timorous hare
Leap over the hedge-side walk.
To turn on one's lazy back,
And see the lark upborne
Over the drifting wrack;
To hear the field-mouse run
To its nest in the swinging stalk,
And see the timorous hare
Leap over the hedge-side walk.
Such are the Summer joys
That Epicureans love;
Men with no morrow to heed,
Heeding no cloud above:
Grasshopper-men, that sing
Their little Summer through,
And when the Winter comes,
Hide from the frost and dew.
That Epicureans love;
Men with no morrow to heed,
Heeding no cloud above:
Grasshopper-men, that sing
Their little Summer through,
And when the Winter comes,
Hide from the frost and dew.
Happy the man whose heart
Is granite against Time's frost,
Whose Summer of calm content
In Autumn's never lost;
Who, when care comes with clouds
That gather from east and west,
Has still a changeless heart,
And sunshine in his breast.
Is granite against Time's frost,
Whose Summer of calm content
In Autumn's never lost;
Who, when care comes with clouds
That gather from east and west,
Has still a changeless heart,
And sunshine in his breast.
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