A roadside harp a book of verses |
 |
|
| 1. |
| 2. | [II. 'T is the time o' the year, if the quicken-bough be staunch] |
 |
 | A roadside harp |  |
[II. 'T is the time o' the year, if the quicken-bough be staunch]
'T is the time o' the year, if the quicken-bough be staunch,
The green, like a breaker, rolls steady up the branch,
And surges in the spaces, and floods the trunk, and heaves
In little angry spray that is the under-white of leaves;
And from the thorn in companies the foamy petals fall,
And waves of jolly ivy wink along a windy wall.
The green, like a breaker, rolls steady up the branch,
And surges in the spaces, and floods the trunk, and heaves
In little angry spray that is the under-white of leaves;
24
And waves of jolly ivy wink along a windy wall.
'T is the time o' the year the marsh is full of sound,
And good and glorious it is to smell the living ground.
The crimson-headed catkin shakes above the pasture-bars,
The daisy takes the middle field and spangles it with stars,
And down the bank into the lane the primroses do crowd,
All colored like the twilight moon, and spreading like a cloud!
And good and glorious it is to smell the living ground.
The crimson-headed catkin shakes above the pasture-bars,
The daisy takes the middle field and spangles it with stars,
And down the bank into the lane the primroses do crowd,
All colored like the twilight moon, and spreading like a cloud!
'T is the time o' the year, in early light and glad,
The lark has a music to drive a lover mad;
The downs are dripping nightly, the breathèd damps arise,
Deliciously the freshets cool the grayling's golden eyes,
And lying in a row against the chilly north, the sheep
Inclose a place without a wind for tender lambs to sleep.
The lark has a music to drive a lover mad;
The downs are dripping nightly, the breathèd damps arise,
Deliciously the freshets cool the grayling's golden eyes,
And lying in a row against the chilly north, the sheep
Inclose a place without a wind for tender lambs to sleep.
'T is the time o' the year I turn upon the height
To watch from my harrow the dance of going light;
And if before the sun be hid, come slowly up the vale
Honora with her dimpled throat, Honora with her pail,
Hey, but there 's many a March for me, and many and many a lass!
I fall to work and song again, and let Honora pass.
To watch from my harrow the dance of going light;
25
Honora with her dimpled throat, Honora with her pail,
Hey, but there 's many a March for me, and many and many a lass!
I fall to work and song again, and let Honora pass.
| A roadside harp | |