 | The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan |  |
And soon, methought, we twain together moved
By secret paths across the open fields
To the fair City; and the paths we took
Were almost solitary, for the throng
Of pilgrims kept the great and dusty road.
Green were the fields with grass, and sweet with thyme,
And there were silver runlets everywhere
O'er which the willow hung her tassell'd locks,
And song-birds sang, for it was summer time,
And o'er the grass, in green and golden mail,
The grasshoppers were leaping, and o'er head
A lark, pulsating in the warm still air,
Scatter'd sweet song like dewdrops from her wings.
By secret paths across the open fields
To the fair City; and the paths we took
Were almost solitary, for the throng
Of pilgrims kept the great and dusty road.
Green were the fields with grass, and sweet with thyme,
And there were silver runlets everywhere
O'er which the willow hung her tassell'd locks,
And song-birds sang, for it was summer time,
And o'er the grass, in green and golden mail,
The grasshoppers were leaping, and o'er head
A lark, pulsating in the warm still air,
Scatter'd sweet song like dewdrops from her wings.
| The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan | |