 | Poems |  |
67
SING, LADY, SING!
Sing, lady, sing!
Let the good green-wood with our voices ring;
All things are chanting their gladness round,
The air is filled with exulting sound;
Hark! how each warbler the leaves among,
Welcomes bright summer with festal song;
The lark, as he soars thro' the clouds on high,
Floods with wild music the sunny sky;
The merle is trilling its merry lay,
The grasshopper chirpeth the live-long day,
And the wind is singing, a wanderer free,
And the stream 'neath its willows,—and why not we?
Let the good green-wood with our voices ring;
All things are chanting their gladness round,
The air is filled with exulting sound;
Hark! how each warbler the leaves among,
Welcomes bright summer with festal song;
The lark, as he soars thro' the clouds on high,
Floods with wild music the sunny sky;
The merle is trilling its merry lay,
The grasshopper chirpeth the live-long day,
And the wind is singing, a wanderer free,
And the stream 'neath its willows,—and why not we?
68
Sing, lady, sing!
Awake, with thy voice and thy cittern's string,
The slumbering echo that ever dwells
In the wood's green caverns and leafy cells;
Sing! the free spirit of joyance lies
Laughingly mirror'd in those dark eyes;
Sing! are not sunshine and summer ours?
Is not life a garden, o'erspread with flowers?
Flowers, that have lost not their early bloom,
Flowers, that still yield us their rich perfume,
While love over all doth its brightness fling,
Clear and unclouded—then sing, oh sing!
Awake, with thy voice and thy cittern's string,
The slumbering echo that ever dwells
In the wood's green caverns and leafy cells;
Sing! the free spirit of joyance lies
Laughingly mirror'd in those dark eyes;
Sing! are not sunshine and summer ours?
Is not life a garden, o'erspread with flowers?
Flowers, that have lost not their early bloom,
Flowers, that still yield us their rich perfume,
While love over all doth its brightness fling,
Clear and unclouded—then sing, oh sing!
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