 | The Last Crusade and Other Poems |  |
132
[Awake, awake!—The breezes shout]
Awake, awake!—The breezes shout
Good morrow to the bustling rills;
The birds are up, the sun is out,
Wafting light kisses to the hills;
The sunbeams, radiant with delight,
Chase the quick swallows as they fly;
The white clouds, giddy with their height,
Are reeling from the open sky.
Good morrow to the bustling rills;
The birds are up, the sun is out,
Wafting light kisses to the hills;
The sunbeams, radiant with delight,
Chase the quick swallows as they fly;
The white clouds, giddy with their height,
Are reeling from the open sky.
O pure, pure Loveliness, that smiled
So brightly on the world's first Spring,
Older than sorrow, yet a child,
That taught each careless bird to sing,
That tinted the wild rose and tied
His rainbow-necklace round the dove,
My playmate, mistress and my bride,
The Earth holds naught to match thy love!
So brightly on the world's first Spring,
Older than sorrow, yet a child,
That taught each careless bird to sing,
That tinted the wild rose and tied
His rainbow-necklace round the dove,
My playmate, mistress and my bride,
The Earth holds naught to match thy love!
| The Last Crusade and Other Poems | |