 | Birds and flowers and other country things |  |
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THE PHEASANT
The stock-dove builds in the old oak wood,
The rook in the elm-tree rears his brood;
The owl in a ruin doth hoot and stare;
The mavis and merle build everywhere;
But not for these will we go to-day,
'Tis the pheasant that lures us hence away;
The beautiful pheasant that loves to be
Where the young, green birches are waving free.
The rook in the elm-tree rears his brood;
The owl in a ruin doth hoot and stare;
The mavis and merle build everywhere;
But not for these will we go to-day,
'Tis the pheasant that lures us hence away;
The beautiful pheasant that loves to be
Where the young, green birches are waving free.
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Away to the woods with the silvery rind,
And the emerald tresses afloat on the wind!
For 'tis joy to go to those sylvan bowers
When summer is rich with leaves and flowers;
And to see, 'mid the growth of all lovely things,
The joyous pheasant unfold his wings,
And then cower down, as if to screen
His gorgeous purple, gold, and green!
And the emerald tresses afloat on the wind!
For 'tis joy to go to those sylvan bowers
When summer is rich with leaves and flowers;
And to see, 'mid the growth of all lovely things,
The joyous pheasant unfold his wings,
And then cower down, as if to screen
His gorgeous purple, gold, and green!
The streams run on in music low,
'Twill be joy by their flowery banks to go;
'Twill be joy to come to the calamus beds,
Where a broken root such odour sheds;
And to see how the water-sedge uplifts
Its spires and crowns—the summer's gifts;
To see the loosestrife's purple spear,
And the wind through the waving reeds to hear.
'Twill be joy by their flowery banks to go;
'Twill be joy to come to the calamus beds,
Where a broken root such odour sheds;
And to see how the water-sedge uplifts
Its spires and crowns—the summer's gifts;
To see the loosestrife's purple spear,
And the wind through the waving reeds to hear.
Then on through hazelly lanes, away
To the light-green fields all clear of hay,
Where along the thick hedge-side we greet,
Tall purple vetch and meadow-sweet;
Past old farm-house and water-mill,
Where the great colt's-foot grows wild at will;
Where the water-rat swims calm and cool,
And pike bask in the deep mill-pool.
To the light-green fields all clear of hay,
Where along the thick hedge-side we greet,
Tall purple vetch and meadow-sweet;
Past old farm-house and water-mill,
Where the great colt's-foot grows wild at will;
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And pike bask in the deep mill-pool.
So on and away to the mossy moor,
Stretching on for many a mile before,
A far-seen wild, where all around
Some rare and beautiful thing is found;
Green mosses many, and sundew red,
And the cotton-rush with its plumy head;
The spicy sweet-gale loved so well,
And golden wastes of the asphodel!
Stretching on for many a mile before,
A far-seen wild, where all around
Some rare and beautiful thing is found;
Green mosses many, and sundew red,
And the cotton-rush with its plumy head;
The spicy sweet-gale loved so well,
And golden wastes of the asphodel!
Yet on and on, o'er the springy moss,—
We have yet the bog-rush bed to cross;
And then a-nigh, all shimmering green
To the sunny breeze, are the birch-woods seen,—
Than the green birch-wood a lovelier spot
In the realms of fairy-land was not!
And the pheasant is there all life, all grace,
The lord of this verdurous dwelling-place.
We have yet the bog-rush bed to cross;
And then a-nigh, all shimmering green
To the sunny breeze, are the birch-woods seen,—
Than the green birch-wood a lovelier spot
In the realms of fairy-land was not!
And the pheasant is there all life, all grace,
The lord of this verdurous dwelling-place.
Oh! beautiful bird, in thy stately pride,
Thou wast made in a waste of flowers to hide,
And to fling to the sun the glorious hues
Of thy rainbow-gold, thy greens and blues!
Yes, beautiful pheasant, the birch-wood bowers,
Rich many-formed leaves, bright-tinted flowers,
Broad masses of shade, and the sunshine free,
In thy gorgeous beauty are meet for thee!
Thou wast made in a waste of flowers to hide,
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Of thy rainbow-gold, thy greens and blues!
Yes, beautiful pheasant, the birch-wood bowers,
Rich many-formed leaves, bright-tinted flowers,
Broad masses of shade, and the sunshine free,
In thy gorgeous beauty are meet for thee!
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