 | Orchard Songs |  |
85
A CONTRAST
The apple in my garden
Is a round of bloom and scent,
With the grass beneath it pointing
To the blue above it bent:
Here's dew of dawn, and music
That can shame a city's rush;
For Town the hurdy-gurdy,
But for Warwickshire the thrush!
Is a round of bloom and scent,
With the grass beneath it pointing
To the blue above it bent:
Here's dew of dawn, and music
That can shame a city's rush;
For Town the hurdy-gurdy,
But for Warwickshire the thrush!
At middle day the blossom
Takes the utmost of the sun;
The tits as sweet explorers
All along the branches run:
'Tis wild-birds' country piping
That can make the forehead flush;
For Town the hurdy-gurdy,
But for Warwickshire the thrush!
Takes the utmost of the sun;
The tits as sweet explorers
All along the branches run:
'Tis wild-birds' country piping
That can make the forehead flush;
For Town the hurdy-gurdy,
But for Warwickshire the thrush!
86
As Mary milks the cattle,
And I stoop to kiss her cheek,
The lilac shakes with lyrics
From the song-bird's easy beak:
'Twas God who made him poet—
How his masterpieces gush!
For Town the hurdy-gurdy,
But for Warwickshire the thrush!
And I stoop to kiss her cheek,
The lilac shakes with lyrics
From the song-bird's easy beak:
'Twas God who made him poet—
How his masterpieces gush!
For Town the hurdy-gurdy,
But for Warwickshire the thrush!
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