 | Twilight Songs |  |
44
MASDORF.
We had escaped to fields all round
And silence lovelier than sound,
Wide fields and such wide skies above,
And Autumn with the eyes of a dove;
Earth like ripe bracken waited still
The ploughman's and the sower's will.
And silence lovelier than sound,
Wide fields and such wide skies above,
And Autumn with the eyes of a dove;
Earth like ripe bracken waited still
The ploughman's and the sower's will.
Soon under this warm breast will stir
The millions to be born of her,
The rumours of the births to be
Rustle, like a soft wind, the sea.
The day, with finger to her lips,
Murmurs: “She is not dead, but sleeps.”
The millions to be born of her,
The rumours of the births to be
Rustle, like a soft wind, the sea.
The day, with finger to her lips,
Murmurs: “She is not dead, but sleeps.”
The kind mist veils her veil of grey
On factory chimneys far away;
This is the holy hour and place,
The cattle chew the cud and graze,
The hares are running in the frost,
And the lark's song to Heaven is tossed.
On factory chimneys far away;
This is the holy hour and place,
The cattle chew the cud and graze,
The hares are running in the frost,
And the lark's song to Heaven is tossed.
This is the happy hour; no jar,
No fret beneath the fortunate star,
But peace on peace that overflowed.
The soul forgets the whip, the goad,
Runs light-foot over the hills of green
The twilight and the moon between.
No fret beneath the fortunate star,
But peace on peace that overflowed.
The soul forgets the whip, the goad,
Runs light-foot over the hills of green
The twilight and the moon between.
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