 | Lauds |  |
46
SWEETS
Yon in the wood's high arches the mist hangs thickest,
The wave of the meadow breaks at my foot and retreats.
Brown breaking to white where the daisies nod;
The red of the sorrel runs to my foot in a flood,
The red of the squirrel's fur where it's smoothest, sleekest,
The Summer air's a-shimmer and heavy with sweets.
The wave of the meadow breaks at my foot and retreats.
Brown breaking to white where the daisies nod;
The red of the sorrel runs to my foot in a flood,
The red of the squirrel's fur where it's smoothest, sleekest,
The Summer air's a-shimmer and heavy with sweets.
Scent of new hay is sweeter than wild bees' honey;
The honeysuckle, the wild rose, hang on the hedge;
The cuckoo's silent, the bee drones in the heat,
The bee's drugged in the honeysuckle—O sweet!
Plunged to the thighs in honey, golden and sunny,
The bee's held in the honey, in a gold cage.
The honeysuckle, the wild rose, hang on the hedge;
The cuckoo's silent, the bee drones in the heat,
The bee's drugged in the honeysuckle—O sweet!
Plunged to the thighs in honey, golden and sunny,
The bee's held in the honey, in a gold cage.
Poised in the mist the lark hangs over the meadow,
There's a sweet wind, a sweet wind out of the West.
The lark's singing his rarest, singing his sweetest.
The year's at the full and the bliss of life is completest.
The wave runs to my feet in foam and in shadow,
The bee's drowned in the honey, plunged to his breast.
There's a sweet wind, a sweet wind out of the West.
The lark's singing his rarest, singing his sweetest.
The year's at the full and the bliss of life is completest.
The wave runs to my feet in foam and in shadow,
The bee's drowned in the honey, plunged to his breast.
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