 | Idyls and Songs |  |
But again
Amid the linnet-notes, that fill'd the hush,
Sweet symphonies of Nature, when the heart
Stays in its music, and the pause affrights:—
Gaily that old man greeted him: then said:—
‘Things are not so with us, in this calm nook
Of quiet hearts, as ofttime 'tis with those
Whose chattering chorus welcomes in a friend,
While telling equals asking:—we have all
To learn from you: little or nought to give:
That little, yours already. Long, too long,
And Bianca will confirm it,—for this day
We've waited. Now 'tis here. Well. Why, 'tis well:
Time's hand was weighty on me. Satis. Hence:
The summer-house, your old unalter'd haunt
Again should hear your voice:—your feet, I see,
Themselves would guide you thither.’
Amid the linnet-notes, that fill'd the hush,
Sweet symphonies of Nature, when the heart
17
Gaily that old man greeted him: then said:—
‘Things are not so with us, in this calm nook
Of quiet hearts, as ofttime 'tis with those
Whose chattering chorus welcomes in a friend,
While telling equals asking:—we have all
To learn from you: little or nought to give:
That little, yours already. Long, too long,
And Bianca will confirm it,—for this day
We've waited. Now 'tis here. Well. Why, 'tis well:
Time's hand was weighty on me. Satis. Hence:
The summer-house, your old unalter'd haunt
Again should hear your voice:—your feet, I see,
Themselves would guide you thither.’
| Idyls and Songs | |