 | The Lay of the Stork |  |
87
The city's spires and palaces,
The river, gliding gaily by,
Blue as the bright tint of the sky,
With snowy vessels dotted o'er;
The lofty bridge from shore to shore:
Rich walnut groves and woods of pine,
Gardens and trellises of vine,
Shining below in light and heat,
While all is shade in his retreat,
And the fresh breeze with whisp'ring tone,
Comes rustling, sporting, whirling on.
| The Lay of the Stork | |