 | Poems, original and translated |  |
TO AMES'S PICTURE OF THE HAY-MAKER.
Sweet maiden, with the twofold glow
Of health and summer on thy cheek,
Thy thoughts, thy home, I fain would know:
Wilt thou not lift thine eyes and speak?
Of health and summer on thy cheek,
Thy thoughts, thy home, I fain would know:
Wilt thou not lift thine eyes and speak?
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Alone I see thee standing there,
The flush of toil upon thy face,
Out in the silent summer air,
In Nature's calm, unconscious grace.
The flush of toil upon thy face,
Out in the silent summer air,
In Nature's calm, unconscious grace.
“Thy thoughts”? Thou art thyself a thought
Bodied in light,—a magic form
By memory, love, and fancy wrought,
With beauty's blissful breathings warm.
Bodied in light,—a magic form
By memory, love, and fancy wrought,
With beauty's blissful breathings warm.
“Thy home”? Not here its place is found,
Amidst the fairest fields of earth:
A purer air than ours breathes round
The realm serene that gave thee birth.
Amidst the fairest fields of earth:
A purer air than ours breathes round
The realm serene that gave thee birth.
| Poems, original and translated | |