 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
Lay Spring-times golden smile, all gracious mild,
On dunes and denes there likewise, óf Gods ground.
After long Winters teen, sweet is this breath,
Of blossomed boughs and mantle of tender green,
In field and heath; whereón now softly blows,
Whitening each spire of grass, attempered wind.
And heavens loft rings, with dítty of lavrocks voice.
On dunes and denes there likewise, óf Gods ground.
After long Winters teen, sweet is this breath,
Of blossomed boughs and mantle of tender green,
In field and heath; whereón now softly blows,
Whitening each spire of grass, attempered wind.
And heavens loft rings, with dítty of lavrocks voice.
In a néw excess of spirit, methought I walked,
Where curlews only cried and swallows stoopt;
Quartering wild field, and hares played wíthout dread,
Of human paths.
Where curlews only cried and swallows stoopt;
Quartering wild field, and hares played wíthout dread,
Of human paths.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |