Songs of A Wayfarer By William Davies |
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 | Songs of A Wayfarer |  |
CXCII.
[How fresh the new day on the fields doth lie]
How fresh the new day on the fields doth lie,Trailing a little mist along the dells,
Wakened by tinklings of clear morning bells
And rills that leap and fall most musically!
White villa, spreading pine and cypress high,
Convent and castle crown the upland swells,
To yon blue range that nearest heaven dwells.—
Enough the weaving of a tender sky;
A broken arch whereon the sunshine lies;
A red-tiled gable hung with fruited vine,
To make a world of pure content to one
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And spirit chorded with her music fine:
So little serves to hang his mood upon!
Siena, October 1868.
| Songs of A Wayfarer | |