 | Lauds |  |
47
IN THE COUNTRY
Ah! in the city I hardly missed you,
For you had nothing to do with the city,
You a countryman, bred and born;
Now, in the hay and the springing corn,
My heart's awake, and it's more's the pity;
My heart cries for you night and morn.
For you had nothing to do with the city,
You a countryman, bred and born;
Now, in the hay and the springing corn,
My heart's awake, and it's more's the pity;
My heart cries for you night and morn.
Every grass-blade's a sword to hurt me,
Because you are dead and my heart is grieving:
When I walk in the pleasant weather
Through the corn and over the heather,
I'm thinking if you were only living
And you and I as of old together.
Because you are dead and my heart is grieving:
When I walk in the pleasant weather
Through the corn and over the heather,
I'm thinking if you were only living
And you and I as of old together.
In the city I could forget you;
I did not look for your face in the city.
Now, in the country, at every turning,
I look for you and my heart is yearning.
The blackbird's singing his pleasant ditty,
As in the days that have no returning.
I did not look for your face in the city.
Now, in the country, at every turning,
I look for you and my heart is yearning.
The blackbird's singing his pleasant ditty,
As in the days that have no returning.
48
No one knows how I'm dreaming of you,
Under the moon when the birds are quiet,
Before the larks spring out of the meadow.
The day comes, the day and its shadow.
I wake and remember with the birds' riot;
I know you are dead and my heart's in shadow.
Under the moon when the birds are quiet,
Before the larks spring out of the meadow.
The day comes, the day and its shadow.
I wake and remember with the birds' riot;
I know you are dead and my heart's in shadow.
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