 | Song in September |  |
174
THE APPEAL
If you had been in Birdsey Wood
Last Wednesday afternoon,
Where, frocked in muslin, once you stood
As April breathing June,
You might have thought that near the glade
Beyond the Druids' stone
You heard Pan trolling in the shade
His vigorous baritone.
Last Wednesday afternoon,
Where, frocked in muslin, once you stood
As April breathing June,
You might have thought that near the glade
Beyond the Druids' stone
You heard Pan trolling in the shade
His vigorous baritone.
For there I lay along the moss
And sang to ancient skies
A ballad heavy with the loss
I suffer when your eyes
Reveal to lads in other shires
Blue limpidness, and teach
Their heart the burden of desires
That run away from speech.
And sang to ancient skies
A ballad heavy with the loss
I suffer when your eyes
Reveal to lads in other shires
Blue limpidness, and teach
Their heart the burden of desires
That run away from speech.
175
Ah, come, my dear! The baby oak
We measured by your length
Is waiting for your hands to stroke
His bark and thrill his strength.
Come, with a sob, to find the place
Where long ago you stood,
And fill my arms with pulsing grace
Once more in Birdsey Wood!
We measured by your length
Is waiting for your hands to stroke
His bark and thrill his strength.
Come, with a sob, to find the place
Where long ago you stood,
And fill my arms with pulsing grace
Once more in Birdsey Wood!
| Song in September | |